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HUi\fl^TG  Ift  Tllft  GREAT  WEST. 

V (RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES.) 


HUNTING  AND  FISHING 

BY  MOUYTAIY  AND  STEEAM. 


G.  O.  SHIELDS. 

(COQUINA.) 


FIFTH  EDITION 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY&  CO. 


407-425  Dearborn  Street 
1 8 0 o 


Copyright 

1883. 

By  Belford,  Clarke  & C& 


?//  3 4 


5 5SH 


INTRODUCTION. 


As  the  author  is  so  well  known  to  American  sportsmen 


through  his  contributions  to  the  American  Field,  it  is  not 
necessary  that  I should  commend  the  book  to  their  considera- 
tion. 

Being  in  favor  of  educating  that  portion  of  the  public 
who  are  not  sportsmen  to  the  importance  of  healthy  outdoor 
sports  as  the  surest  and  best  method  of  securing  and  main- 
taining good  health,  and  believing  that  sketches  such  as  this 
book  contains  contribute  most  forcibly  to  this  end,  by  creating 
a desire  to  participate  in  such  scenes  and  pleasures  as  they 
recount,  it  is,  therefore,  to  the  general  reader  that  I commend 
:his  book. 

Not  physically  only,  but  mentally  also,  are  outdoor  sports 
nvigorating ; and  rapidly  are  the  people  realizing  what  the 
greatest  savans  have  long  since  realized : mens  sana  in  torpore 
ano. 

Satisfied  that  the  protection  and  propagation  of  game 
)irds,  game  animals  and  game  fishes,  apart  from  an  economic 
>oint  of  view,  demand  the  attention  of  the  people  as  afford- 
ng  the  facilities  for  the  maintenance  of  health  and  repairing 
iverworked  bodies  and  brains,  I look  upon  a book  like  this, 
diich  treats  of  the  pleasures  of  the  gun,  rifle  or  rod  in  a 
aost  entertaining  manner,  as  a missionary  sent  out  to  en- 


4 5'fl^ 


VI 


INTRODUCTION. 


lighten  a people  on  the  healthful  recreation  they  know  not  of, 
and  enlist  them  in  the  protection  of  game  and  fish  which) 
unwittingly  they  may  have  been  aiding  the  destruction  of. 

The  author  has  had  the  experience  necessary  to  furnish 
material  for  interesting  sketches;  and  being  an  ardent  advo 
cate  of  the  protection  of  game  and  fish  during  the  close  seaj 
son,  and  opposed  to  the  wanton  slaughter  of  them  during  th< 
open  season,  I again  commend  this  book. 

N.  ROWE, 

Editor  “American  Field.’ 

Chicago,  February  15,  1883. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 

Clark’s  Fork  — Mr.  Allen  — Frontier  yarns — Rogers  didn’t  want  to 
be  killed  by  a buffalo  — “Why  didn’t  you  catch  the  bull  by  the 
tail?” — Hiram  Stewart’s  narrow  escape  — Twenty  years  in  the 
mountains  and  never  so  near  death 9 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PARTY  ORGANIZED. 

Mike  mashed  — Sawyer  and  his  pony  play  circus — Sawyer’s  wander- 
ings in  mid-air  — Terra-firma  at  last — A chase  after  Sawyer’s 
pony  — Allen  wants  him  to  “buck  some  more”  — The  Cayuse 
submits  to  the  argument  of  clubs  — Sawyer  declines  the  hurricane 
deck  for  the  future  — Supper  on  mountain  trout 18 

CHAPTER  III. 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  WYOMING. 

Indian’s  question,  “ Shostida  ?”  — Huffman  in  camp — Agrees  to  join 
us  — A fine  doe ! but  Huffman  has  my  gun  — A day  on  Bennett 
creek  — Allen  in  luck  — Huffman  curses  his  Kennedy  pea- 
slinger — Nothing  but  “ woodchuck” — Universal  dampness — 

The  luck  turns 26 

CHAPTER  IV. 

MEDITATIONS  IN  A WICIUP. 

’hilosophy  in  a tent — “ Me  t-r-r-rusty  rifle” — Away  from  the  ills  of 
life — Elk-heart  and  hard  tack  for  breakfast — The  peroration  of 
a donkey’s  bray  — Wapiti  winds  his  horn  — The  Monarch  of  the 
Rockies  dies  as  a king  should  die 36 

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451  Ar 


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X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A PERILOUS  EXPERIENCE. 

Three  bears  anxious  for  gore  — The  company  rattled  — We  try  the 
effect  of  noise  and  bluster  — The  grizzlys  retire  — Mike  arouses 
the  anger  of  an  old  she-bear — A race  for  life  — Huffman  and  I 
to  the  rescue  — Two  out  of  three  killed  — A fine  view  of  the 
Rockies  — More  sport  — The  camp  broken  up  — We  start  for 
home 43 

CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 

Away  to  the  mountains — The  Red  River  valley  — A garden  in  the 
desert  — From  Bismarck  to  Glendive  — The  bad  lands  on  the 
Little  Missouri — “ Hell  with  the  fire  out”  — Four  hundred  and 
seventy-three  bridges  in  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  miles  — 

A drive  up  the  Yellowstone  — Butchers  and  buffaloes  — A word 
of  warning  — Off  to  the  Big  Horn * 5° 

CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  THE  YELLOWSTONE  VALLEY. 

How  I shot  a duck  — An  August  thunder-storm  — Menu  for  an  epi- 
cure— Rosebud  River  — An  old  battle  ground — Lame  Deer 
creek — Custer’s  last  camping  ground — Scaring  a coyote  - — Dog- 
in-the-manger  meanness  of  Crow  Indians.  ......  57 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

AT  THE  FORKS  OF  THE  ROSEBUD. 

Good  luck  with  the  grouse  — Interviewed  by  a Crow'  scout  — First 
sight  of  the  Big  Horn  mountains  — Three  deer  killed  with  four 
shots,  “ deuced  clevah ! ” — Fanning  the  coyotes  — All  loaded 
forbear  — Killed,  but  lost  after  all — Wet  groceries  for  break- 
fast  65 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  HAPPY  HUNTING  GROUND. 

Huffman  kills  a grizzly  — A night  in  wet  blankets  — A race  for  the 
axe — Grand  sport — Hunting  through  the  snow  — Effectiveness 
of  the  explosive  bullet 74 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


CHAPTER  X. 

THROUGH  THE  CANYON  OF  THE  LITTLE  BIG  HORN. 

An  adventure  with  Nig  — The  photographic  outfit  in  peril — 'Huffman 
frantic  — Nig  lands  the  cargo  safely  — Huffman  grumbles,  I phi- 
losophize— A herd  of  mule  deer — Growths  of  pine  timber  — 

Fine  sport  with  a mountain  buffalo  — The  ideal  hunter’s  camp.  82 

CHAPTER  XI. 

A GRAND  DAY’S  SPORT. 

An  exciting  chase  — A leap  for  life  — All  a man  wants  is  “sand”  — 
Over  the  mountain  wall  — The  chase  grows  interesting — An- 
other leap  for  life — I follow  my  leader — Run  to  cover  at  last  — 

I drink  to  the  memory  of  the  departed  — More  sport  — Old  planti- 
grade and  her  cubs  — Loaded  for  bear  — The  whole  family 
killed — Home  to  camp 93 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A BUSY  DAY. 

Scoring  a miss  — Huffman  photographs  a scene — Shakspeare  in  the 
mountains  — A grizzly  “ rustling  for  chuck  ” — A race  for  life  — 
Bruin  falls — A severe  attack  of  punning  — Butter  side  down  — 

A herd  of  elk — More  sport 103 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

FROM  CUSTER  TO  KEOUGH. 

In  the  Big  Horn  range  — The  Black  Canyon  — A perilous  descent  — 

Jack  loaded  for  bear  — Bear  loaded  for  Jack  — Huffman’s  trail  — 
Scaling  a mountain  wall  — Custer’s  grave  — Up  the  Big  Porcu- 
pine — Flagging  the  antelope  — Antelopes  as  curious  as  women 
— No  country  like  the  Big  Horn  for  sport 115 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 

Montana  a veritable  wonderland  — Sport  from  the  baggage  car  — 
Alkali  beds  near  Crystal  Springs  — “ Why  did  your  aunt  elope  ? ” 

— Resolved  to  kill  a buffalo  or  get  scalped — Judge  Souther  — In 
luck  — In  the  Custer  valley  — “Young  Man’s  Butte” — Cus- 
ter’s lookout ! — Prairie  dogs  — Bad  lands  — Too  bad  to  be 
described.  126 


XII 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LIFE  ON  THE  PLAINS. 

Courtesies  of  railroad  and  military  officers  — Living  on  the  fat  of  the 
land  — The  cuisine  of  the  Palmer  House  eclipsed  — Sport  that 
is  sport  — A pet  fawn — A sight  for  Landseer — Lieutenant 
McCoy  — Spike-tailed  Republicans  — A banquet  in  the  wilder- 
ness — Buzzing  a sentinel  — A yarn  of  Indian  scouts  — “ Soldier 
heap  damn  lazy!  ” — Back  to  my  virtuous  couch 136 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

AFTER  THE  BUFFALOES. 

We  start  well  equipped  — Camp  at  Beavercreek — The  antelope  hard 
to  kill  — Dr.  Black  “all  broke  up  ” — Takes  his  supper  standing  — 
Good  morning’s  sport — A breakfast  fit  for  the  gods  — Buffaloes 
at  last — “Let  them  have  it”  — The  buffaloes  take  a good  deal 
of  killing  — Sharp’s  rifles 145 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

TWO  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  BUFFALOES. 

Small  herds  of  buffaloes  — The  great  herd  — An  early  morning  hunt — 

“ Old  reliable  ” — Charges  a buffalo  — My  first  buffalo  lies  dead 
at  my  feet  — Back  to  camp  — Corporal  Brown  counsels  caution  — 
Startled  by  white  men  — My  buffalo  weighs  fourteen  hundred 
pounds ' 153 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THROUGH  AN  EXTINCT  HELL  ! 

Another  herd  of  buffaloes  — An  unusual  experience  — A grand  leap 
for  life  — Pursuing  the  herd  — Back  through  the  bad  lands  — 
Black-tail  deer  — Still  after  the  buffaloes  — Defeated  — More 
sport  — Close  quarters  — The  bison  yields  — The  hunt  is  up.  . 161 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 

Jacksonville  — A city  of  orange  groves  — On  board  the  “Pastime” 

— Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe’s  winter  home  — Hibernia — Mag- 
nolia— Palatka — “There’s  an  alligator”  — Fine  sport  — Lake 
George  — Manhattan  — William  Astor’s  orange  grove  — An  alli- 
gator thirty  feet  long  — Dr.  Spalding’s  trout  — St.  Augustine,  the 
oldest  city  in  the  United  States, 171 


CONTENTS. 


X1U 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  GULF  OF  MEXICO. 

Off  for  Sarasota  Bay  — A royal  kingfish  landed  on  deck — A white 
cloth  bait  — A heron  rookery  — Mr.  Moore  a real  deer-slayer — 
Varieties  of  fish  — Tampa— Dr.  J.  P.  Wall — Five  hundred  and 
fifty  acres  of  orange  trees  — - A grand  chance  for  settlers  — 8,000,000 
oranges  a year  — Grand  resort  for  invalids 182 

Cl  AFTER  XXI. 

SNEAD’S  ISLAND. 

Great  schools  of  mullet  — Solid  acres  of  fish  — Snead’s  Island  a grand 
fishery  — “There’s  millions  in  it”  — We  “smole”  audibly  — 

On  board  the  “ Skylark  ” — The  mangrove — Mr.  Webb — A 
paradise  for  botanists  — Century  plants  in  bloom  — Fishing  — 
Mackerel  sixteen  inches  long,  weighing  three  pounds.  . . .190 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON  BOARD  THE  “SKY-LARK.” 

“Shall  Auld  Acquaintance  be  Forget?” — Capt.  O.  C.  Squyer — Sea 
trout — Thirsting  for  the  blood  of  a “’gator” — Our  desire  thor- 
oughly satisfied — We  begin  to  hanker  after  shark — Sharks  and 
sand-flies — A Jew-fish  caught  weighing  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
three  pounds — Preparing  for  a fire-hunt — My  first  fire-hunt.  . . 200 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DEER-STALKING  AND  FIRE-FISHING. 

The  mule  element  strong  in  me — “ Walking  by  faith,  not  by  sight  ” — 

In  search  of  alligators  — A fight  between  an  eagle  and  a fish- 
hawk — A two-year-old  doe  starts  from  the  thicket — I fire,  Rover 
starts  on  the  chase — I carry  home  my  prize  — Fire -fishing — 
Sheepshead — Needle-fish  mullet — A hundred  pounds  of  fish  in 
three  hours — We  catch  an  inquisitive  shark 210 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FOUR  DAYS  ON  THE  MYAKKA  RIVER. 

The  camping  ground  of  Coughpennslough  — The  “ Palmeeter  cab- 
bage”— The  sportman’s  paradise— I become  pious — Satan  to  the 
front — A mossy  bed — Ta-whoo-oo-oo-ah — “Gobble,  gobble, 
gobble” — The  woods  alive  with  squirrels — The  bounding  buck — 

A flock  of  turkeys — Roseate  spoonbills — The  sad  words  “ good- 
bye.”   


XIV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WORDS  OF  ADVICE  TO  TOURISTS  TO  FLORIDA. 

Expenses  of  a trip — Must  call  at  St.  Augustine — Bring  your  gun  and 
rifle  — Provide  plenty  of  ammunition  — Don’t  forget  shark 
tackle  — Take  a small  tent — A light  rubber  coat  and  a heavy 
blanket — The  only  foot-gear  needed  is  a pair  of  cowhide  shoes — • 
Take  also  some  simple  medicines  — Quinine  — Calomel  — The 
expenses  of  the  journey  small 234 

CHAPTER  XXVI'. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  BOYHOOD. 

Back  to  the  old  home — The  Barrett  boys — The  old  schoolhouse — 
Hail,  gentle  robin — The  old  fence  corner — The  churchyard — 

The  snow-ball  conflicts 241 

CPIAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  DAYS  OF  LONG  AGO. 

My  dog  and  I — Ring  and  the  hogs — Woodchuck  hunting — Old  Ring ! 
“Though  lost  to  sight  to  memory  dear” — All  is  changed — Old 
memories  crowd  upon  me — The  old  landmarks  gone ! — The  old 
spring — There  is  a time  for  tears.  . . 252 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

TROUTING  ON  THE  NAMECAGON. 

Mr.  T.  S.  Powers  a typical  sportsman — The  village  of  Cable — Out  in 
the  stream — Multitudes  of  trout — Mosquito  creek.  ....  261 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

PIKE  AND  BASS  FISHING  ON  LONG  LAKE. 

An  afternoon’s  catch,  180  pounds  of  fish! — Leroy  and  the  pollywogs 
top  the  Narrows — Hunting  a loon  — “You’ve  got  a whale, 
sure” — An  enormous  pickerel — Three  days’  catch,  620  pounds — 
Home  again 267 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  LAKE  SUPERIOR  REGION. 

From  Marquette  to  Duluth — A mild  winter — A crowd  in  “ Mackinaw 
flannel” — The  lumber  interests — Fisheries — Brook  trout — Ducks 
and  geese  in  season — Little  hunting — Trout  lake — A charming 
location  for  sportsmen 275 


CONTENTS.  Z.V 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AUTUMN  RAMBLINGS  IN  NORTHERN  MICHIGAN. 

Among  the  Wolverines — Off  to  the  Twin  lakes — My  “ hunter’s  pet  ” — 
Through  the  pine  forests — One  shot  and  one  miss — A pack  of 
wolves — Hiding-places  of  the  bear — A shot  at  a deer — On  board 
the  “ Northern  Belle.” 284 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  ISLAND  OF  MACKINAC. 

The  Straits  of  Mackinac — The  perfect  transparency  of  the  water— 
Purity  of  the  atmosphere — Antidote  for  hay  fever — Fort  Macki- 
nac— The  Astor  house — The  enchanting  isle — Souvenirs — The 
captain’s  dream — Pelican  lake — An  aqua  incognita — The  home 
of  the  mighty  muscalonge 295 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A NARROW  ESCAPE. 

Enchanting  scenery — A sudden  shot  — I fall  asleep — An  awful 
awakening — Hand-to-hand  fight  with  a grizzly — “Hold  the 
fort” — A swarm  of  mosquitoes — A terrific  slaughter.  . . . 301 


ILLUSTRATIONS, 


Our  Camp  in  the  Foot-Hills ( Frontispiece ) 

He  didn’t  want  to  be  Killed  by  a Buffalo 13 

Saved  by  a Lucky  Shot ' 16 

A Decided  Mash 19 

On  the  Home-stretch 22 

A Day  on  Bennett  Creek 29 

“This  is  How  We  Got  ’Em’’ 33 

The  Monarch  of  the  Rockies 41 

United  in  Death 46 

Huffman’s  Prize 78 

The  Rage  of  Huffman  and  the  Calmness  of  “Nig” 83 

After  the  Race 90 

The  Dead  Grizzly 107 

Butter  Side  Down 109 

Skinning  the  Elk 113 

Jack  Loaded  for  Bear 117 

Bear  Loaded  for  Jack  119 

Flagging  an  Antelope 123 

The  Round  Up  ..  124 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 

CLARK’S  FORK — MR.  ALLEN  — FRONTIER  YARNS  — ROGERS  DIDN’T  WANT 
TO  BE  KILLED  BY  A BUFFALO — “WHY  DIDN’T  YOU  CATCH  THE  BULL 
BY  THE  TAIL?” — HIRAM  STEWART’S  NARROW  ESCAPE  — TWENTY 
YEARS  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  AND  NEVER  SO  NEAR  DEATH. 

After  a pleasant  journey  of  eighteen  hours  over  the  Chi- 
cago, Milwaukee  & St.  Paul  railroad  from  Milwaukee  to  St. 
Paul,  and  another  of  forty-eight  hours  over  the  Northern 
Pacific  from  St.  Paul,  we  arrived  on  the  first  day  of  Septem- 
ber at  the  famous  town  of  Billings,  Montana,  at  that  time  the 
temporary  terminus  of  the  Northern  Pacific  road,  I at  once 
sought  the  quarters  of  my  old  friend  Major  Bell,  of  the  7th 
Cavalry,  who  was  camped  near  the  station,  but  was  sadly  dis- 
appointed to  learn  that  he  was  under  orders  to  go  to  Bozeman 
in  a few  days,  and  could  not  therefore  join  me  in  a hunt. 
He  had  given  four  of  his  men  permission,  however,  to  start 
the  next  morning  for  a five  days’  hunt  in  the  Pryors  Mountain 
country,  thirty-five  miles  distant,  and  kindly  offered  me  a 
mount  if  I desired  to  go  with  them  ; but  as  this  would  not  be 
as  long  a trip  as  I wanted  to  make,  I decided  to  decline  his 
offer  and  go  with  some  friends  who  had  gone  out  with  me. 
On  the  following  day,  therefore,  I met  them  in  Coulson,  two 
miles  from  Billings,  and  we  arranged  for  a three  weeks’  trip 

into  the  mountains  toward  the  head  of  Clark’s  Fork. 

9 


10 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


During  the  time  of  making  preparations  for  our  start  we 
were  entertained  in  a most  enjoyable  manner  by  Mr.  William 
Allen  and  his  accomplished  wife. 

Mr.  Allen  is  a capital  story  teller  and  a fine  actor.  He  is 
an  old  timer  on  the  frontier,  and  in  his  varied  experience  hai 
passed  through  some  strange  adventures.  He  gave  us  some 
choice  selections  from  these  the  first  evening  we  were  there, 
which,  if  they  could  be  reproduced  here  with  all  his  actions, 
gestures  and  points,  would  furnish  fun  lor  the  readers  of  this 
book  for  a year  to  come.  I will  repeat  one  or  two  of  them 
as  nearly  in  substance  as  possible,  but  they  will  lack  the  unc- 
tion and  action  with  which  he  delivered  them. 

Some  years  ago,  when  living  on  his  ranch  ten  miles  above 
Coulson,  he  was  subpoenaed  to  serve  on  the  grand  jury  which 
was  to  meet  at  Miles  City.  A neighbor  named  Wm.  Rogers, 
hearing  that  he  was  going  to  Miles,  called  on  him  and  requested 
permission  to  go  with  him.  Mr.  Allen  gladly  accepted  his 
company,  and  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  start  early  the 
next  morning,  and  go  down  the  river  in  a skiff.  When  they 
got  all  their  traps  on  board  it  was  discovered  that  neither  of 
them  had  provided  a gun,  Mr.  A.’s  gun  being  out  of  order 
and  Mr.  R.  having  lately  sold  his.  They  talked  the  matter 
over,  and  it  looked  like  a risky  piece  of  business  to  start  on  a 
voyage  like  this  of  a hundred  and  fifty  miles  down  the  Yel- 
lowstone river,  through  a country  where  they  were  liable  to 
be  jumped  by  hostile  reds,  without  a gun  in  the  boat. 
Besides,  there  was  plenty  of  game  along  the  river,  and  it 
would  be  extremely  provoking  not  to  be  able  to  shoot  any  of 
it,  even  though  it  should  walk  over  them.  But  what  should 
be  done?  Neither  of  them  had  a firearm  of  any  kind,  not 
even  a revolver,  that  was  serviceable,  and  it  would  be  difficult 
to  borrow  one  for  so  long  a time,  so  they  decided  to  do  the 
only  thing  to  be  done  under  the  circumstances — go  unarmed. 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


11 


Now  this  Rogers  is  a great  “ blow,”  and  is  always  boasting 
what  he  would  do  and  how  valiantly  he  would  fight  if 
corralled  by  Indians ; how  he  would  stand  his  ground  and 
shoot  any  bear  to  death  that  ever  roamed  the  mountains, 
before  he  would  run ; how  he  would  not  be  afraid  to  ride 
into  a herd  of  buffaloes  anywhere  on  the  plains  and  slaughter 
dozens  of -them,  and  would  not  be  afraid  of  getting  eaten  up 
by  them  either,  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff. 

On  their  cruise  down  the  river,  Rogers  regaled  Allen  with 
accounts  of  how  he  would  grapple  with  any  Indian,  or  other 
wild  animal,  that  should  dare  to  molest  them,  single  handed, 
and  kill  or  put  them  to  rout.  Yes,  he  was  a valiant  son  of 
Mars  ! Well,  it  happened  on  the  second  day  of  their  voyage, 
as  they  were  floating  quietly  along,  they  saw  several  old 
buffalo  bulls  moving  down  a trail  that  led  down  the  side  of  a 
steep  bluff,  and  ordinarily  between  the  bluff  and  the  water’s 
edge,  to  a point  farther  up  the  stream  where  it  led  out  again. 
But  at  this  time  the  water  was  high  and  the  trail  at  the  foot 
of  the  bluff  was  submerged.  The  bulls  didn’t  discover  this 
fact  until  they  got  to  the  water,  and  then  they  were  on  a part 
of  the  trail  that  was  so  narrow,  and  the.bluff,  both  above  and 
below  them  was  so  precipitous,  that  they  could  not  turn 
around,  leaving  them  no  alternative  but  to  plunge  into  the 
river  and  swim  out. 

By  this  time  Allen  and  his  valiant  co-voyageur  were  along- 
side of  the  bulls.  Allen  had  the  oars.  “ Now,”  said  Rog- 
ers, “when  they  jump  into  the  water  you  run  the  boat  right 
in  amongst  them,  and  I’ll  catch  one  of  them  by  the  tail,  pull 
him  down  stream  until  we  drown  him,  and  we’ll  have  some 
fresh  meat,  and  be  darned  to  the  guns.” 

“All  right!”  replied  Allen;  “they’ve  jumped  into  the 
water,  and  by  the  great  Sault  Ste  Marie  the  water  is  over 
their  backs.  They’re  swimming  already.  Look ! they  are 


12 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


making  for  the  other  shore,  and  are  going  to  cross  right  m 
front  of  us.  “ Well,  here  goes  for  a big  bull.  Now  Rogers, 
grab  a tail.” 

And  with  two  or  three  powerful  strokes  of  the  oars  he 
shot  the  skiff  right  in  amongst  the  terrified  beasts  who  were 
making  the  angry  flood  boil  all  around  them  in  their  frantic 
efforts  to  get  away.  But  when  Rogers,  this  mighty  hunter, 
this  stalwart  slayer  of  grizzlies,  this  terror  of  Canyon  Creek, 
this  red-handed  Indian  slayer,  came  to  face  the  music,  he 
weakened ; he  turned  pale,  and  his  knees  knocked  together. 

“Get  out  of  here,  quick!  ” he  cried  in  terror;  I don’t 
want  to  catch  one  of  them  old  cusses,  he’ll  jump  right  plum 
into  the  boat  if  I do,  and  drownd  us.” 

“Oh,  no,  he  won’t!”  shouted  Allen.  “Grab  one 
quick.  What’s  the  mater  with  you?  ” 

“Get  out  of  here,  quick,  I say,”  pleaded  the  terror- 
stricken  terror  of  Canyon  Creek. 

“Well  here,”  replied  Allen,  “you  take  the  oars  then,  and 
r 11  catch  one.” 

“No,  I won’t,”  answered  Rogers.  “Pull  out  of  here 
quick,  for  God’s  sake.  I don’t  want  to  be  killed  by  a cussed 
old  buffalo  bull.”  And  so  there  was  no  recourse  for  Allen 
but  to  pull  out,  and  leave  the  bulls  to  pursue  their  way  in 
peace. 

“ Well,”  remarked  Rogers,  after  they  had  gone  some  dis- 
tance down  the  river,  and  he  had  recovered  his  breath,  “did 
you  ever  see  such  frightful  lookin’  critters  in  your  life  as 
them  bulls  was?  Why,  they  was  just  a puffen’  and  a snorten’ 
like  an  old  steamboat,  and  their  nostrils  was  jest  as  red  inside 
as  two  coals  of  fire,  and  their  eyes  was  as  big  as  a tin  cup, 
and  they  looked  like  they  had  just  been  varnished.  And 
their  tails  stuck  up  and  spread  out  till  they  looked  just  like 
parasols.  As  sure  as  you  live,  Allen,  if  we’d  ever  ’a  ketched 


HE  DIDN’T  WANT  TO  BE  KILLED  BY  A BUFFALO 


14 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


one  of  them  bulls  by  the  tail,  he’d  ’a  jumped  right  into  the 
boat  and  killed  us  both.” 

Allen  has  never  got  through  laughing  over  that  adventure 
yet,  and  to  this  day  whenever  Rogers  goes  to  blowing  about 
what  he  would  do  under  certain  circumstances,  somebody 
asks  him,  “ Well,  why  didn’t  you  catch  the  buffalo  bulls  by 
the  tail  ? and  then  he  collapses,  and  has  nothing  more  to  say 
to  that  crowd. 

On  another  occasion  Allen  told  us  he  was  out  hunting 
with  old  Hiram  Stewart,  a noted  hunter  and  trapper,  who  had 
spent  more  than  half  his  life  in  the  mountains,  and  had  killed 
more  bears  and  other  large  animals  probably  than  he  had 
hairs  on  his  head.  It  was  in  May.  As  they  were  crossing  a 
coulee  one  day,  in  which  the  brush  grew  thick,  and  in  which 
there  remained  some  patches  of  old  snow,  they  saw  where 
the  ground  had  been  disturbed.  Passing  along,  they  saw  a 
hole  in  one  of  the  snowdrifts,  which  looked  as  if  some  one 
had  set  down  a coffee  sack  full  of  rocks.  But  there  was  a row 
of  such  holes,  and  on  further  examination  they  were  forced 
to  conclude  that  they  had  discovered  a bear  track,  and  the 
largest  one,  they  both  agreed,  that  they  had  ever  seen. 
They  followed  the  trail  to  where  it  led  into  a dense  jungle  of 
box  elder,  water  beech,  rose  bushes,  etc.,  at  the  head  of  the 
coulee. 

They  walked  around  this,  and  seeing  no  trail  leading  out 
of  it,  concluded  the  bear  must  be  in  there.  They  threw 
rocks  and  clubs  into  the  ticket  to  start  him  out,  but  he  would 
not  start.  Then  Allen  got  down  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  pushing  his  gun  ahead  of  him,  crawled  in.  He  could 
not  see  any  bear,  but  after  he  got  in  about  twenty  feet  he 
heard  such  an  unearthly  growl  as  convinced  him  at  once  that 
the  outside  air  would  be  healthier  for  him,  and  slid  out 
backward,  much  faster  than  he  went  in.  Then  old  Hi.  said 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


15 


he  would  go  in.  Allen  told  him  he  had  better  not,  but  he 
would  not  listen  to  caution  and  crawled  in.  He  had  not 
gone  far  when  he  met  the  old  leviathan  coming  out,  and 
raising  his  rifle,  took  a hasty  aim  and  fired.  This  ball  entered 
the  bear’s  breast  and  knocked  him  down,  but  Hi.  saw  at  once 
that  he  was  not  dead,  and  attempted  to  throw  the  shell  out  of 
his  rifle.  But  an  accident  to  a gun  almost  invariably  happens 
just  at  the  most  critical  moment.  Or,  if  a fellow  ever  pulls 
the  wrong  trigger,  it  is  sure  to  be  when  the  fine  shot  are 
in  that  barrel,  and  the  buckshot  in  the  other,  and  the  deer 
gets  away  again.  Joe’s  shell  stuck  in  the  chamber  of  his 
rifle,  and  refused  to  budge.  He  knew  he  had  no  time  to  fool 
away  in  swearing  at  his  bad  luck,  so  he  slid  out  just  as  fast  as 
the  nature  of  the  ground  would  permit,  but  before  he  got  out 
the  bear  had  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  shot  sufficiently 
to  get  up  and  start  after  him.  Hi.  wore  an  old  buckskin  suit 
that  had  been  in  the  service  for  years,  and  that  w'as  so  stiff 
from  having  been  daubed  with  blood,  grease,  molasses  and 
other  animal  and  vegetable  matter  that  he  could  take  it  off 
and  lean  it  up  against  a tree,  and  it  would  stand  there  until 
he  wanted  it  again,  just  the  same  as  if  he  were  in  it.  He  was 
sadly  handicapped  in  this  race  by  a game  leg  that  was  about 
two  inches  shorter  than  the  other,  and  when  he  got  out  of  the 
thicket  there  was  not  a tree  in  reach  large  enough  to  climb, 
so  he  started  up  the  hill  side  with  the  bear  at  his  heels, 
growfling  and  roaring  at  every  jump,  and  Hi.  yelling 
“ Murder,  save  me,  shoot  him,  kill  him  quick.” 

Allen  said  the  spectacle  was  so  ridiculous  that  had  it  been 
his  own  funeral  instead  of  Hi’s,  that  was  coming  off  so  soon, 
he  must  have  laughed  all  the  same.  Notwithstanding  Hi’s 
old  coat  was  as  stiff  as  a shingle,  it  stood  out  behind  until 
you  could  have  played  billards  on  it,  if  the  bear  hadn’t  been 
in  your  way.  At  every  jump  Hi.  made  he  would  careen  over 


SAVED  BY  A LUCKY  SHOT. 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


17 


toward  the  side  his  game  leg  was  on,  just  as  a chair  goes  over 
when  one  leg  falls  out  of  it.  Finally  Allen  braced  up  so  that 
he  could  shoot,  and  turned  his  Winchester  loose  on  the 
grizzly.  The  first  shot  caught  him  behind  the  shoulder,  and 
the  second  in  the  neck,  but  he  paid  no  attention  to  them 
more  than  to  stop  and  scratch  the  spot  with  his  paw,  and 
then  go  on  after  Hiram.  But  the  third  shot,  fortunately,  caught 
him  at  the  butt  of  the  ear,  and  dropped  him  in  his  tracks. 

By  this  time  Hi.  had  reached  the  ledge  of  rocks  that  he 
had  started  for  at  first,  and  which  he  thought  would  save  him. 
Ie  had  just  grasped  a thin  shelf  that  stuck  out,  to  pull  himself 
p by,  but  it  broke  off,  and  let  him  fall  to  the  ground  just  as 
the  bear  dropped,  and  in  his  death  struggle  he  caught  Joe 
with  one  of  his  hind  feet  and  threw  him  more  than  twenty 
eet  down  the  hill.  Joe  gathered  himself  up,  rubbed  the  mud 
off  his  face  and  hands,  felt  of  arms  and  legs  to  see  that  they 
were  all  whole,  looked  at  the  great  monster,  which  now  lay 
dead,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  his  breath  enough  to 
speak,  said,  as  he  shook  with  terror  from  head  to  foot : 
“Great  God,  twenty-five  years  in  the  mountains,  and  I never 
cum  as  near  gettin’  killed  as  that.’’ 

He  laid  down  on  the  ground,  and  it  was  more  than  an 
hour  before  he  was  able  to  walk.  Allen  said  his  face  was  as 
white  as  the  snow  in  the  coulee,  excepting  the  space  around 
his  eyes,  and  that  was  yellow.  Poor  old  Hiram  never  recovered 
from  this  terrible  shock,  and  died  a year  afterward.  Several 
who  knew  him  claim  that  the  scare  was  the  direct  cause  of 
the  sickness  that  ended  his  life.  He  was  a mental  and  phy- 
sical wreck  from  that  time  to  the  day  of  his  death.  Allen 
took  from  the  bear  one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  pounds  of 
oil,  and  his  skin  when  stretched  and  staked  out  on  the  ground 
measured  over  nine  feet  wide  by  ten  and  a half  in  length. 

2 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  PARTY  ORGANIZED. 

MIKE  MASHED  — SAWYER  AND  HIS  PONY  PLAY  CIRCUS  — SAWYER’S 
WANDERINGS  IN  MID-AIR  — TERRA-FIRMA  AT  LAST  — A CHASE  AFTER 
SAWYER’S  PONY  — ALLEN  WANTS  HIM  TO  “BUCK  SOME  MORE”  — 
THE  CAYUSE  SUBMITS  TO  THE  ARGUMENT  OF  CLUBS  — SAWYER 
DECLINES  THE  HURRICANE  DECK  FOR  THE  FUTURE  — SUPPER  ON 
MOUNTAIN  TROUT. 

We  completed  our  arrangements  for  the  hunt,  and  start- 
ing from  Billings  on  Sunday  evening,  September  3,  rode  to 
Ed  Forest’s  ranch  at  Canyon  creek,  ten  miles  west  of 
Billings,  and  camped  for  the  night.  Our  party  as  now 
organized,  consisted  of  Mr.  Allen  and  his  son  Willie,  of 
Coulson  ; R.  J.  Sawyer  and  M.  Weise,  of  Menominee,  Michi- 
gan ; “Doctor  ” J,  W.  Trinler,  of  Coulson,  our  teamster,  the 
most  worthless,  unmitigated  vagabond  that  ever  any  hunting 
party  was  afflicted  with,  and  “ the  undersigned.”  Mr.  Allen 
was  mounted  on  a bay  complexioned  cayuse  that  had  blood 
in  his  eye,  as  we  shall  presently  see.  I had  procured  a tough, 
good-natured,  ambitious  little  black  pony,  and  the  other 
members  of  the  party  were  mounted  on — -the  wagon. 

After  an  hour’s  ride  Allen  offered  to  change  seats  with 
either  of  the  boys  in  the  wagon.  Weise  eagerly  accepted  the 
offer,  and  mounted  the  bay  pony,  which  made  no  objection  at 
the  time,  but  a close  observer  might  have  seen  by  his  eye  that 
he  was  only  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  take  the  conceit  out  of 
that  pilgrim  ; and  the  opportunity  came  too  soon.  When  we 
reached  the  little  settlement  of  Canyon  Creek  it  was  dark, 

and  a light  burning  in  a tent  at  the  roadside  attracted  the 

18 


SSiSij 


- v 

BIHH 

■■■■ 


aiLiliill 


A DECIDED  MASH. 


20 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


attention  of  the  cayuse.  He  turned  square  across  the  road 
and  stopped  to  look  at  it.  Before  Mike  could  induce  him  to 
move  on  the  wagon  came  up,  and  the  tongue  struck  him  with 
a solid  shoot  squarely  amidships.  At  this  he  concluded  to 
break  camp  and  move  at  once.  Stiff-legged  bucking  set  in. 
He  waltzed,  polkaed,  bucked  and  shook  Mike’s  frame  almost 
to  pieces.  Finally  he  missed  his  footing  an4  fell.  He  rolled 
all  over  Mike,  and  when  he  had  mashed  and  churned  him  to 
his  heart’s  content,  got  up,  shook  himself,  and  was  ready  to 
be  mounted  again. 

None  of  us  were  in  love  with  our  teamster  or  his  team 
from  the  first,  but  it  was  the  only  outfit  we  could  get  in  town. 
We  hoped,  however,  that  when  we  reached  Ed  Forest’s 
ranch  we  should  be  able  to  get  him  to  furnish  a team  and 
take  us  out,  and  turn  “Doc”  back;  but,  unfortunately, 
Forest’s  horses  were  out  on  the  range,  and  had  strayed  away 
so  far  that  he  had  been  unable  to  find  them  after  a hard  day’s 
ride.  So  we  were  compelled,  much  against  our  wishes,  to 
take  up  our  march  the  next  day  with  the  same  three  plugs 
(“  Doc.”  and  his  two  horses)  that  we  had  started  with. 

On  Monday  morning  we  drove  up  the  Yellowstone  five 
miles,  forded  it,  and  proceeded  up  Clark’s  Fork  river  to  the 
mouth  of  Rock  creek,  where  we  had  expected  to  find  good 
hunting,  but  we  met  an  old  Crow  Indian,  who  told  us  that 
several  lodges  of  his  tribe  were  camped  on  Rock  creek,  and 
had  been  for  many  “sleeps”;  so  we  knew  we  should  find  no 
game  there,  and  must  keep  on  up  Clark’s  Fork.  We  camped 
on  Rock  creek  that  night,  and  in  the  morning  held  a council 
of  war.  We  had  noticed  all  the  previous  afternoon  that  one 
of  “ Doc’s  ” plugs  was  very  weak,  and  we  had  serious  doubts 
about  his  being  able  to  stand  a long  drive.  If  we  had  found 
game  on  Rock  creek,  and  he  could  have  grazed  there  two  or 
three  days  while  we  were  hunting,  he  would  have  gathered 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


21 


strength  from  the  good  feed  there  — so  much  better  than  he 
had  been  used  to  at  home  — so  that  he  could  have  stood  the 
rest  of  the  trip  all  right ; but  now  that  we  must  push  on  for 
four  or  five  days  up  to  the  mountains  before  finding  game  in 
paying  quantities,  we  felt  sure  that  plug  at  least  would  never 
be  able  to  make  it,  and  we  decided  to  turn  back  to  Forest’s 
ranch,  hoping  that  by  the  time  we  should  reach  there  Ed, 
would  have  found  his  horses  and  would  be  prepared  to  take 
us  out. 

So  we  loaded  up ; “ Doc  ” managed  with  our  help  to  get 
his  team  hooked  up,  and  while  we  were  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  load,  Sawyer  having  concluded  to  ride  the 
bay-complexioned  cayuse  that  morning,  climbed  onto  the 
hurricane  deck  and  put  his  feet  in  the  stirrups  just  as  if  he 
felt  perfectly  at  home  there.  The  pony  was  browsing  on  the 
rose  bushes  which  Sawyer  thought  entirely  unnecessary,  inas- 
much as  he  had  been  in  good  grass  all  night.  He  pulled  his 
head  up  several  times,  and  said  “Ho”  to  him,  but  this 
didn’t  last  long.  Presently  the  pony  put  his  head  down  to 
take  another  bite,  and  Sawyer  kicked  him  on  the  nose  and 
said  “Ho.”  Well,  you  should  have  seen  the  storm  that 
arose  then  ! That  hurricane  deck  became  the  roughest  place 
that  ever  poor  Sawyer  was  stranded  on.  The  patient  cayuse 
reared  up  behind  and  plunged  down  before ; then  he  reared 
up  before  and  plunged  down  behind  ; and  all  this  time  his 
legs  were  as  stiff  as  hop  poles.  Sawyer  said  he  thought  in  his 
soul  that  all  his  upper  teeth  would  come  out  when  the  cayuse 
came  down.  He  said  “ Ho  ” again,  but  the  pony  wouldn’t 
“ ho.”  He  made  one  more  leap  into  the  air  and  humped  his 
back  up.  This  time  Sawyer  concluded,  like  Sir  Joseph  Porter, 
to  go  below,  but  he  couldn’t  even  have  his  own  way  about 
that.  At  first  he  shot  up  into  the  air  like  a flaming  meteor  or 
something  of  that  sort.  He  clawed  out  in  every  direction 


ON  THE  HOME-STRETCH. 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


23 


like  a man  hunting  for  a match-box  in  a dark  room.  His  hat 
flew  east,  and  his  gun  flew  west,  and  his  field-glass  flew  over 
the  cuckoo’s  nest.  And  when  he  had  got  as  high  as  the  pony 
wanted  him  to  go,  he  turned  and  went  down  into  the  weeds 
head  first  just  as  a big  green  bull-frog  goes  down  into  the 
water  off  of  a high  bank. 

Sawyer  picked  himself  up,  we  all  got  around  him,  deployed 
and  skirmished  until  we  found  his  hat,  gun  and  field-glass, 
made  an  inventory  of  him  and  found  he  was  all  there,  and 
then  the  next  thing  was  to  catch  the  pony. 

I mounted  my  black  charger  and  started  after  him.  He 
headed  for  a large  herd  of  Indian  ponies  that  were  grazing  in 
the  valley  half  a mile  above  us.  My  pony  could  easily  out- 
run him,  even  although  handicapped  with  my  weight,  and  I 
soon  headed  him  off,  but  he  was  too  smart  to  let  me  get 
within  reach  of  his  bridle,  and  would  shy  off  every  time  I 
came  alongside  of  him.  I didn’t  like  to  run  my  pony 
unnecessarily,  so  I returned  to  the  wagon  and  told  Allen  to 
take  a rope  and  lasso  him.  He  took  one  of  the  picket  ropes, 
got  onto  my  pony  and  started.  By  this  time  the  bay  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  Indian  herd.  Allen  soon  singled  him  out, 
but  the  rope  was  too  wet  and  heavy  to  throw.  It  would  not 
spread,  and  the  only  way  of  getting  the  fugitive  was  to  run 
him  down.  Over  the  prairies,  through  brush,  across  the  creek 
and  back  again,  out  onto  the  prairie  through  a large  dog 
town,  where  we  momentarily  expected  to  see  either  horse 
thrown  three  times  his  length  by  stepping  into  a dog  hole. 
The  poor  little  black  kept  neck  and  neck  with  the  bay,  and 
Allen  laid  the  coils  of  that  heavy  rope  across  the  little  imp’s 
back,  with  such  force  at  every  jump  that  he  carried  the  marks 
of  it  for  several  days  afterward.  The  race  lasted  for  half  an 
hour,  and  then  the  little  rogue  came  shambling  up  to  the 


24 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


wagon,  neighing  piteously,  and  submitted  gracefully  to  being 
taken  in. 

Then  there  was  still  another  circus.  Allen  put  on  a big 
Mexican  spur,  picked  up  a cotton-wood  club,  mounted  him 
and  told  him  to  “buck  some  more.”  The  little  devil  tried 
to  obey  orders,  but  he  was  too  tired.  Allen  hammered  him 
with  the  club  and  roweled  him  with  the  steel  until  he  so 
completely  subdued  him  that  from  that  time  on,  for  the  three 
weeks  he  remained  a member  of  our  outfit,  that  cayuse  was 
as  docile  as  a kitten.  He  never  smiled  again,  at  least  not 
while  we  knew  him.  But  Sawyer  was  quits  too.  He  never 
climbed  onto  that  hurricane  deck  again  during  that  trip. 
We  couldn’t  coax  him  to.  He  said  once  was  enough  for 
him,  thank  you,  and  it  would  be  a cold  day  when  we  ever  got 
him  into  that  kind  of  a muss  again. 

We  drove  back  to  Forest’s  ranch,  where  we  arrived  that 
night  at  dark.  Ed  was  still  out  hunting  for  his  horses,  and 
his  man  told  us  had  been  out  all  day ; but  at  nine  o’clock  he 
rode  up  with  them,  and  then  there  was  great  rejoicing  in  our 
camp.  Before  we  went  to  bed  everything  was  arranged.  In 
the  morning  we  paid  “ Doc.”  off,  and  were  all  heartily  glad 
to  be  rid  of  him.  By  noon  Ed  had  his  traps  in  shape,  and 
after  dinner  we  pulled  out.  We  drove  to  the  Yellowstone 
again,  and  as  we  were  going  out  at  the  other  side  of  the  ford 
we  saw  a horseman  crossing  behind  us  and  signaling  to  us, 
so  we  halted  on  the  bank  until  he  came  up.  It  proved  to 
be  a messenger  from  Mrs.  Allen,  requesting  Mr.  A.  to 
return  at  once  to  attend  to  some  important  business.  Allen 
mounted  his  pony  and  started  for  Coulson,  and  we  went  into 
camp  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  It  was  arranged  that  we 
were  to  make  a short  drive  the  next  day,  and  that  Allen 
would  go  home  and  attend  to  the  business  that  had  called  him 
back  and  overtake  us  at  our  camp  the  next  night.  We  caught 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


25 


several  handsome  mountain  trout  in  the  Yellowstone,  within 
a few  yards  of  our  camp,  on  which  we  feasted  that  night  and 
at  breakfast  the  next  morning. 

We  moved  up  Clark’s  Fork  the  next  day,  crossed  Rock 
creek  and  camped  on  the  bank  of  the  river  five  miles  be- 
yond. Clark’s  Fork  is  a beautiful  stream  ; clear,  very  swift, 
and  runs  over  large  boulders  nearly  its  entire  length.  It  is 
full  of  mountain  trout,  most  of  them  of  large  size.  We 
caught  all  we  wanted  at  every  camp  we  made  on  the  river  and 
its  tributaries,  and  feasted  on  them  nearly  the  entire  time 
we  were  out.  At  sundown  we  were  delighted  to  see  Allen 
ride  into  camp.  Once  more  our  party  was  complete- 


CHAPTER  III. 


ON  THE  WAY  TO  WYOMING. 

Indian’s  question,  “shostida?”  — Huffman  in  camp  — agrees 

TO  JOIN  US  — A FINE  DOE  ! BUT  HUFFMAN  HAS  MY  GUN  — A DAY  ON 
BENNETT  CREEK  — ALLEN  IN  LUCK  — HUFFMAN  CURSES  HIS  KEN- 
NEDY PEA-SLINGER  — NOTHING  BUT  “WOODCHUCK” — UNIVERSAL 
DAMPNESS  — THE  LUCK  TURNS. 

We  pulled  out  early  the  following  morning  and  continued 
our  march  up  the  river.  We  were  in  sight  of  large  herds  of 
Indian  ponies  nearly  all  day,  and  in  fact  during  the  three 
days  that  it  took  us  to  cross  their  reservation.  Their  tepees 
were  scattered  all  along  the  river,  and  we  never  passed  one 
without  being  challenged.  A warrior  would  ride  up  to  us, 
shake  hands  with  us  and  shout  “shostida”  (where  are  you 
going  ?)  in  an  authoritative,  if  not  impudent  tone,  that  gave 
us  to  understand  at  once  that  they  considered  us  intruders, 
and  would  like  to  have  us  get  off  their  ground  as  soon  as 
possible.  Our  answer  that  we  were  going-across  the  line  into 
Wyoming,  and  that  we  were  not  going  to  hunt  on  their 
reservation,  was  generally  satisfactory.  But  if  we  had  killed 
any  game  or  attempted  to  do  so  on  their  ground  we  would  soon 
have  been  served  with  a peremptory  notice  to  quit  the  premises, 
Two  young  warriors  rode  with  us  several  miles  this  morn- 
ing, and,  finally  told  us  if  we  would  give  them  some  fish-hooks, 
they  would  catch  some  trout  and  bring  them  to  us  for  dinner. 
We  gave  them  the  hooks  gladly  enough  and  hoped  we  should 
not  be  bothered  with  them  further,  but  sure  enough,  true  to 
their  promise,  they  turned  up  at  noon  with  a fine  string  of  trout. 
About  eleven  o’clock  in  the  forenoon  we  met,  away  out 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


27 


there  on  that  lonely  trail,  my  old  friend  L.  A.  Huffman,  the 
Miles  City  photographer,  who  accompanied  me  to  the  Big 
Horn  country  last  year  and  to  whom  I am  indebted  for  most 
of  the  views  with  which  this  volume  is  embellished.  He  was 
just  returning  from  the  National  Park,  where  he  had  been 
making  stereoscopic  views  of  the  natural  wonders  of  that  great 
wonderland.  We  halted  for  dinner  and  plied  him  with  the 
most  earnest  solicitations  to  turn  back  with  us,  to  which  he 
finally  yielded. 

Talk  about  the  strange  coincidences  of  life,  but  here  is 
certainly  one  of  the  strangest.  That  we  should  both  have 
happened  to  choose  that  same  trail  across  a stretch  of 
country  hundred  of  miles  in  extent,  where  there  were  plenty 
of  other  game  trails  as  plain  and  good  as  the  one  we  were 
on  — that,  without  any  previous  arrangement  or  knowledge 
of  each  other’s  whereabouts,  he  should  have  started  from 
away  off  in  the  National  Park  and  we  from  the  Northern 
Pacific  railroad  and  should  both  have  timed  our  movements 
just  so  as  to  meet  here  (for  he  was  going  to  leave  this  trail  that 
evening  and  strike  east  to  Pryor’s  Gap),  was  certainly  one  of 
the  strangest  freaks  of  fortune  on  record.  He  and  his  com- 
panion were  almost  the  first  white  men  we  had  seen  since 
“leaving  the  Yellowstone,  and  we  were  the  first  they  had  seen 
since  leaving  the  Park.  ~ To  say  that  we  were  all  delighted  is 
to  draw  it  mildly,  for  we  felt  that  Huffman  was  a man  that, 
now  we  had  found  him,  we  could  not  possibly  do  without  on 
this  trip.  The  two  Crows  came  up  at  this  time  with  their  fish, 
and  we  were  also  joined  by  an  old  medicine-man  of  the  tribe. 
Altogether,  we  made  quite  a formidable  if  not  respectable 
looking  picnic  party. 

After  dinner  Huffman’s  companion  took  two  of  his  horses 
and  pursued  his  way  toward  the  railroad,  while  Huffman  took 
the  other  four  and  turned  back  with  us 


28 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


On  the  morning  of  September  9th  we  moved  early,  and 
about  ten  o’clock  in  the  forenoon  crossed  the  boundary-line 
between  Montana  and  Wyoming,  which  line  is  also  the 
southern  boundary  of  the  Crow  reservation.  We  heaved  a 
unanimous  sigh  of  relief  when  we  got  out  of  the  jurisdiction 
of  those  pestiferous  redskins.  Huffman  killed  a deer  while 
we  halted  for  dinner,  and  so  won  the  thanks  of  the  outfit  for 
our  first  venison.  It  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  from 
him  when  he  killed  it,  and  he  was  on  foot,  and  some  distance 
from  camp.  I happened  along  just  then  with  my  pony,  and 
he  asked  me  to  go  across  and  get  it.  He  said  I would  have 
enough  to  do  to  handle  the  deer,  and  had  better  leave  my 
gun  with  him.  I.  obeyed  his  orders,  and  went  after  the  deer 
while  he  went  to  camp.  I dressed  the  animal,  swung  it  into 
my  saddle,  and  started  to  lead  my  pony  up  the  river  to  get 
an  easier  crossing.  Just  as  I got  up  the  bank  a fine  doe 
jumped  out  of  the  grass,  ran  up  onto  a little  ridge  about  forty 
yards  away,  and  stopped  and  looked  at  me  for  several 
minutes.  I didn’t  make  any  remarks  then  about  a man  that 
was  fool  enough  to  take  another  man’s  gun  away  from  him, 
nor  about  a man  that  was  fool  enough  to  let  another  man 
carry  his  gun  to  camp.  Oh,  no ! If  I had  pulled  the  wrong 
trigger  on  that  doe,  and  the  buckshot  had  been  in  the  other 
barrel,  my  language  would  not  have  been  more  forcible  nor 
less  elegant. 

We  jumped  a coyote  that  afternoon,  and  with  four  re- 
peaters and  one  single  shot  we  almost  set  the  ground  on  fire 
around  him,  but  as  he  started  at  about  two  hundred  yards 
rise  and  ran  away  ahead  of  his  ticket,  we  failed  to  make 
a score  on  him.  I put  out  some  poison  for  them  that  night 
and  several  nights  following,  but,  although  they  howled 
around  our  camp  a great  deal,  they  didn’t  take  the  bait. 

On  the  10th  we  ran  into  a large  herd  of  cattle,  and 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


29 


amongst  them  a herd  of  eight  antelopes.  They  were  a long 
distance  from  the  trail,  however,  and  we  didn’t  go  after  them, 
but  contented  ourselves  with  giving  them  a few  harmless  shots 
at  about  four  hundred  yards  rise. 

We  left  the  river  that  afternoon,  and  started  up  a creek 
that  came  down  from  the  mountains  on  the  west,  hoping  to 


A DAY  ON  BENNETT  CREEK. 


find  game  near  the  head  of  it;  but  when  we  got  to  the  foot- 
hills we  found  a cabin  there  occupied  by  the  ranchman  who 
owned  the  herd  of  cattle  we  had  passed  through,  so  we  had 
to  turn  back  again  and  go  on  up  the  river  to  the  mouth  of 
Bennett  creek,  another  beautiful  stream,  also  coming  in  from 


30 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


the  west.  We  proceeded  up  this  about  two  miles,  and 
camped.  The  next  day  we  explored  it  well  up  into  the 
range  toward  its  source,  but  it  did  not  develop  into  a good 
game  country,  either.  There  were  plenty  of  antelopes  near 
our  camp,  however,  and  rve  put  in  a good  portion  of  the  day 
hunting  them.  Allen  killed  two,  Sawyer  two,  and  three  of 
us  collectively  killed  one,  after  putting  six  bullets  through 
him. 

On  the  1 2th  we  pulled  out  up  the  river  again)  crossed  it, 
and  moved  up  Pat  O’ Hare  creek,  a tributary  that  comes  in 
from  the  southwest  and  empties  near  the  mouth  of  the  Clark’s 
Fork  canyon.  We  followed  this  stream  to  the  foot  of  the 
mountains  and  made  our  camp,  determined  to  find  game  in 
this  region  or  turn  back.  On  the  15  th  Huffman  and  I 
scouted  the  foothills  to  the  west  thoroughly  for  a distance"  of 
ten  miles.  We  found  some  bear  signs,  but  none  of  elk  or 
other  game.  Allen,  Sawyer  and  Weise  started  up  the  side  of 
the  mountain.  Allen  jumped  a white  tail  doe  and  killed  her 
before  he  had  gone  a mile  from  camp.  Thus  the  wolf  was 
again  (paradoxically)  driven  Irom  our  door  by  the  presence 
of  another  supply  of  fresh  meat.  Ed  Forest  took  a long 
tramp  to  the  southeast,  saw  a black  bear  and  nine  elk,  but  did 
not  succeed  in  getting  a shot  at  any  of  them.  However,  the 
news  that  we  had  at  last  got  into  a country  where  there  were 
elk  and  bear,  revived  our  drooping  spirits,  and  we  were  all  on 
the  war-path  early  the  next  morning,  eager  for  the  fray.  I 
climbed  the  mountain  clear  to  the  top,  and  in  a broad  canyon 
where  there  were  several  springs  and  thickets  of  quaking 
asp,  water  beech,,  jack  pine,  etc.,  I discovered  numerous  fresh 
signs  of  both  bear  and  elk,  but  failed  to  get  sight  of  any  of 
the  game,  although  I hunted  diligently  all  day. 

Allen  was  the  lucky  man  again,  for  he  killed  a half-grown 
black  bear  within  a mile  of  camp.  But  all  the  hard  words 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


31 


were  fired  by  and  at  Huffman,  who  returned  to  camp  that 
night  with  the  news  that  he  had  rode  up  to  the  head  of  the 
creek  four  or  five  miles  from  camp,  and  had  there  jumped 
three  separate  jags  of  elk ; one  of  about  forty,  another  of 
about  twenty-five  and  another  of  about  sixty ; that  he  had 
emptied  his  magazine  and  his  belt  into  them  at  fifty  to 
seventy-five  yards  rise,  that  he  had  wounded  several,  but  had 
not  killed  any.  He  didn’t  swear.  Oh  no,,  of  course  not. 
He  wasn’t  mad  enough.  He  just  raved  and  danced  like  an 
escaped  lunatic ; he  tore  his  hair,  slung  his  hat  and  tramped 
our  grub  and  cooking  utensils  into  the  ground  with  his  big 
boots  as  he  waltzed  around  the  camp-fire.  He  pronounced 
all  the  maledictions  he  could  think  of  on  that  condemned 
little  Kennedy  pea  slinger  of  his.  He  wished  he  had  a car 
load  of  them  to  dam  the  Yellowstone  river  with ; and  yet 
he  said  he  didn’t  know  what  the  river  had  done  to  deserve 
such  punishment.  On  second  consideration  he  rather 
thought  it  was  the  guns  that  ought  to  be  damned  instead  of 
the  river. 

Sawyer  said  how  he  would  like  to  have  been  there  with 
his  Winchester  Express;  Mike  and  Allen  would  have  liked 
to  have  been  there  with  their  45-75  Winchesters;  and  I 
whispered  in  Huffman’s  ear  that  I might  have  wounded 
another  one  or  two  if  I had  been  there  with  my  old  40-75 
Sharps. 

“Well,  you  sheep-eating  idiots,’’  he  growled,  “why  in 
thunder  did’nt  you  come?  I didn’t  tell  you  to  stay  away.” 
We  finally  all  cooled  off,  and  compromised  with  the  few  of 
the  elk  that  got  away  by  promising  them  that  we  would  be 
with  them  bright  and  early  on  the  morrow. 

And  sure  enough,  the  next  morning  we  moved  on  them  en 
masse.  We  went  to  the  same  quaking-asp  thickets  the  same 
coulees  and  springs  where  Huffman  had  been  the  day  before ; 


32 


RUSTL  NGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


we  found  trails,  blood  and  hair,  and  smelt  the  sulphurous 
fumes  of  twenty-four-hour-old  profanity,  but  there  were  no 
elk  in  that  neck  of  woods.  And  so  we  had  to  carry  our 
several  belts  full  of  cartridges,  and  our  several  loads  of  dis- 
appointments, which  were  much  heavier,  back  to  camp.  The 
next  day,  Saturday,  the  16th,  we  all  returned  and  hunted  the 
same  section  of  country,  but  still  the  elk  had  not  returned 
in  any  considerable  numbers.  Sawyer,  Allen  and  Mike  saw 
three,  and  Sawyer  got  one  shot,  but  missed. 

We  now  began  to  get  desperate.  It  was  beginning  to  be 
a case  of  woodchuck  with  us,  for  we  were  nearly  out  of  meat 
again.  True,  we  had  killed  a good  deal  of  meat,  but  when 
six  able-bodied  men  and  a boy  sit  down  to  eat  in  that  country, 
meat  vanishes  before  them  like  dry  grass  before  a prairie  fire. 
We  determined  to  make  a desperate  effort  the  next  day. 
When  we  crawled  out  of  our  tent  the  next  morning  the 
heavens  looked  gloomy.  The  sky  was  hidden  by  a dense,  dark 
mist,  and  heavy  fog  clouds  were  floating  ominously  about  the 
mountain-sides.  Everything  we  touched  felt  damp  excepting 
the  whisky-bottle,  and  that  was  dry  enough  (inside)  for  a 
matchbox.  Our  ardor  was  somewhat  dampened  by  this 
outer  dampness  and  absence  of  inner  dampness,  but  we  were 
not  to  be  delayed  by  such  trifles. 

We  started  for  the  canyon  where  I had  seen  so  many 
good  surface  indications  on  Friday.  But  Huffman  got  stuck 
on  the  scenery — the  fog  clouds  floating  around  the  mountain 
tops,  and  returned  to  camp  to  make  some  views. 

The  rest  of  the  party  went  up  the  trail  about  two  miles 
and  separated ; three  of  us  went  directly  up  the  mountain 
into  the  canyon,  the  other  three  ascended  by  another  trail 
farther  to  the  south.  When  Forest,  Sawyer  and  I got  into 
the  canyon  we  separated,  Sawyer  going  up  near  the  south 
wall,  I near  the  north,  and  Forest  through  the  center.  He 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES 


33 


tok  s to  be  ready  for  business,  for  he  meant  to  run  game 
over  w if  we  didn’t  keep  out  of  the  way.  I had  not  gone 
more  than  three  or  four  hundred  yards  when,  sure  enough,  I 
heard  a great  commotion  in  the  midst  of  a quaking-asp 
thicket,  and  knew  at  once  by  the  nature  of  the  sound  that  it 


“THIS  IS  HOW  WE  GOT  ’EM.” 

was  caused  by  a band  of  elk,  and  that  Forest  had  jumped 
them.  They  came  directly  toward  me,  but  the  fog  was  so 
dense  and  the  brush  so  thick  that  I could  not  see  them  until 
they  were  within  a few  feet  of  me.  As  they  approached  me 

3 


34 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


they  separated,  about  five  or  six  going  on  each  side  of  me, 
and  so  close  that  had  the  weather  been  clear  I could  almost 
have  counted  their  eye-winkers.  Finally,  I caught  a glimpse 
of  a small  patch  of  red  hair  through  the  fog  and  leaves,  and 
sent  a bullet  into  it ; then  ahother  and  another.  Then  all 
was'  oblivion  again,  so  far  as  sight  was  concerned,  but  I could 
hear  them  thumping  and  crashing  against  trees  and  bushes, 
their  hoofs  clattering  over  the  rocks  in  their  mad  flight,  and 
Forest  yelling  at  me  to  “ Give  it  to  ’em.”  I went  to  where 
they  were  when  I fired,  and  found  a fine  large  fat  cow  elk 
dead,  with  two  holes  through  her,  one  through  the  hips  and 
one  through  the  lungs.  .She  had  presented  herself  at  two 
openings  as  she  ran  and  had  got  a double  dose.  The  third 
shot  was  carried  away  by  a .young  bull.  I saw  him  dash 
through  a rift  in  the  fog  within  twenty  feet  of  me  with  blood 
running  from  a wound  high  up  in  his  side,  over  the  paunch. 

While  I was  admiring  my  prize  I heard  Sawyer’s  Express 
belching  forth  her  compliments  to  the  wapiti,  and  making 
the  rock-ribbed  hills  echo  with  her  musical  voice;  one,  two, 
in  quick  succession,  followed  by  the  three  shouts  that  we  had 
agreed  should  call  the  party  together.  On  repairing  to  him, 
.1  found  he  had  a fine  yearling  heifer  down  within  fifty  yards 
of  my  cow.  We  scoured  the  woods  awhile  in  search  of  the 
others,  but  they  had  lit  out  for  tall  timber.  We  tried  to  trail 
the  wounded  bull,  but  the  undergrowth  was  so  thick  and  he 
had  left  so  little  blood,  that  we  were  forced  to  give  up  the 
task. 

For  the  past  two  hours  it  had  been  raining;  one  of  those 
quiet,  modest,  unassuming  rains  that  follow  a damp,  foggy 
morning  ; one  of  those  rains  that  does  not  make  any  un- 
necessary noise,  but  which  means  business,  as  the  Dutchman 
says  “ fon  the  verd  git,”  and  we  were  wet  to  the  skin  ; yes, 
almost  to  the  bone.  We  returned  and  took  the  entrails  out 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


35 


Of  our  two  elk.  The  other  boys  thought  we  had  better  cut 
them  up  and  each  pack  in  a load  of  meat,  but  I objected, 
is  Huffman  wanted  some  views  of  them ; and  in  fact,  we  all 
lid. 

“But,”  said  Allen,  “it’s  raining  so  he  can’t  make  any 
views  to-day,  and  if  we  leave  the  carcasses  here  over  night 
the  bears  will  eat  them  up.  ’ ’ 

“I  don’t  think  they  will,”  I said,  “ for  I’m  going  to  come 
out  here  and  sleep  with  them,  and  if  the  aforesaid  bears  want 
to  eat  any  carcasses  they  can  try  mine.” 

They  all  thought  I would  have  rather  a damp  atmosphere 
to  sleep  in,  but  I was  anxious  to  save  the  meat  and  skins,  and 
determined  to  make  the  best  of  it.  So  we  all  went  back  to 
camp.  I fired  a few  cold  potatoes,  beans,  chunks  of  meat 
and  hard  tack  into  my  neck,  took  a small  piece  of  canvas 
and  my  rubber  coat,  and  started  for  another  climb  up  the 
mountain. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


MEDITATIONS  IN  A WICIUP. 

PHILOSOPHY  IN  A TENT  — “ME  T-R-R-RUSTY  RIFUL  ” — AWAY  FROM  THE 
ILLS  OF  LIFE — ELK-HEART  AND  HARD  TACK  FOR  BREAKFAST— THE 
PERORATION  OF  A DONKEY’S  BRAY — WAPITI  WINDS  HIS  HORN  — 
THE  MONARCH  OF  THE  ROCKIES  DIES  AS  A KING  SHOULD  DIE. 

I arrived  at  the  seat  of  war  about  five  o’clock,  stretched 
my  canvas  across  a washout,  cut  boughs  and  stood  them  up 
around  three  sides  of  it,  and  threw  down  a lot  for  a bed, 
built  a rousing  fire  against  a big  rock  in  front  of  it,  got  up  a 
supply  of  wood  sufficient  to  keep  it  burning  all  night,  and 
then  crawled  into  my  wiciup  to  meditate. 

Now,  thought  I,  this  isn’t  so  bad  after  all.  Some  folks 
might  think  it  was,  but  it  isn’t.  The  wood  is  wet,  to  be  sure, 
but  by  keeping  plenty  of  it  on  it  burns  tolerably  well.  These 
bushes  under  me  are  wet,  but  I have  spread  my  rubber  coat 
over  them,  and  that  keeps  the  dampness  from  coming  through 
and  wetting  me.  Besides,  my  clothes  are  so  wet  that  they 
couldn’t  get  any  wetter  if  I were  to  sleep  in  Lake  Michigan; 
so  what  does  it  matter  if  my  other  surroundings  are  wet? 
Besides  they  are  drying  rapidly  under  the  influence  of  this 
rousing  fire.  It  is  still  raining  steadily,  but  my  little  pup 
tent  keeps  it  off.  The  night  is  cold,  but  if  my  back  gets  cold 
while  my  face  is  toward  the  fire  I can  turn  over  and  warm 
my  back.  Some  people  might  feel  lonely  out  here,  four 
miles  from  camp,  and  in  a neck  of  woods  that  is  full  of 
bears  and  other  frisky  varmints,  but  I have  “me  t-r-r-rusty 
riful  ” with  me,  as  the  dizzy  actor  would  say;  besides, 

wild  varmints  are  not  apt  to  approach  a fire-  The  carcases 

36 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


37 

lie  within  a few  yards  of  me  on  opposite  sides  of  my  camp, 
and  the  varmints  aforesaid  are  not  likely  to  disturb  them 
either,  so  long  as  the  fire  burns.  If  they  do,  I shall  be  very 
likely  to  find  it  out,  and  death  will  forthwith  go  abroad  in 
the  land. 

And  then  it  is  so  nice  and  quiet  here.  That  outweighs 
all  objections  to  the  place  and  its  surroundings.  The  conduc- 
tor will  not  interrupt  my  snooze  to-night  by  shaking  my  arm 
and  calling  for  “ teekets,”  nor  the  brakeman  by  shouting 
“ clamzoo,  change  cars  for  ’troit,”  nor  the  train  butcher  by 
yelling  “peanuts.”  The  infernal  milkman’s  bell  won’t  toll 
the  hour  of  four  o’clock  to-morrow  morning.  I won’t  have 
to  put  my  vest  under  my  head  to  save  that  thirty-five  cents 
in  my  pocket-book  from  the  burglars.  They  will  give  my 
room  a wide  berth  to-night.  The  landlord  can’t  harass  me 
this  evening  with  that  little  “arrears  of  rent  bill”  of  his. 
The  grocer  and  the  butcher  can  whistle  for  what  I owe  them, 
that  is,  if  they  feel  like  whistling.  I don’t  care  if  coal  is 
booming.  Let  her  boom.  I don’t  want  any  now.  Have 
plenty  of  fuel  for  the  present,  thank  you.  I think  of  the 
little  black-eyed  widow  away  back  at  home,  and  wonder  how 
she  is  faring  in  the  battle  of  life.  That’s  the  only  care  I have 
to-night.  But  surely  no  ill  can  befall  her  when  a fellow  is 
away  off  out  here.  It  would  be  a mighty  cowardly  fate  that 
would  steal  a march  on  a man  and  rob  him  of  his  treasures 
when  he  is  not  there  to  defend  them,  so  I will  consign  her  to 
the  care  of  Him  who  watcheth  over  the  little  sparrows,  dis- 
miss that  care  also,  and  betake  myself  to  sleep. 

The  weather  grew  intensely  cold  during  the  night;  the 
rain  turned  to  snow,  and  the  water  that  hung  on  the  leaves 
froze.  Ice  formed  on  the  little  ponds  of  water,  and  Jack 
Frost  woke  me  up  several  times  during  the  night  to  replenish 
my  fire.  At  four  o’clock  in  the  morning  I took  the  heart  of 


§8 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


one  of  the  elk,  spitted  it  on  a forked  stick  before  the  fire,  avrd 
roasted  it  to  a turn.  On  this  and  some  hard  tack  which  I 
had  hastily  shoveled  into  the  pockets  of  my  hunting  coat 
when  leaving  camp  the  previous  evening,  I made  a hearty 
breakfast,  and  at  dawn  was  ready  for  the  fray  again.  Before 
it  was  fully  light  an  electric  thrill  was  sent  through  my 
inmost  soul  by  the  sound  of  a bull  elk’s  whistle,  which  was 
borne  to  my  eager  ears  on  the  fresh  morning  breeze.  Could 
it  be  possible?  Were  some  of  those  monsters  still  hanging 
about  to  give  me  another  matinee?  Truly,  for  while  I lis- 
tened the  sonorous  and  to  me  sublimely  beautiful  sound, 
came  again. 

My  friend,  did  you  ever  hear  an  elk  whistle  ? 

“Yes,  plenty  of  them.” 

So?  Well,  then  I won’t  try  to  describe  it  to  you.  But 
there’s  another  good-looking  young  gentleman  over  in  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  hall  who  says  he  never  did,  and 
to  him  I would  remark  that  it  sounds  more  like  the  closing 
paragraph,  the  last  sad  note,  indefinitely  prolonged,  the 
tremolo-staccato,  the  peroration,  as  it  were,  of  a donkey’s 
bray.  Sometimes  it  is  preceded  or  followed  by  a kind  of 
grunt,  although  not  always.  In  fact,  scarcely  any  two  elk 
whistle  just  alike.  The  same  one  varies  his  tones,  but  they 
average  about  as  suggested.  The  noise  is  a very  shrill  one, 
capable  of  being  heard  to  a great  distance,  and  to  a sports- 
man’s ears  it  is  probably  the  most  musical  and  fascinating 
sound  to  be  heard  in  the  mountains.  To  me  on  this  occasion 
it  was  peculiarly  interesting,  for  I wanted  above  all  things  on 
this  trip  to  secure  a good  head  for  mounting,  and  the 
questions  that  ran  through  my  brain  were : Is  this  an  old- 

timer?  Has  he  a fine,  well-developed  head  and  broad- 
spreading, perfect  antlers  ? And  shall  I be  able  to  get  him  ? 
The  chances  were  largely  against  me,  for  the  leaves  and  grass 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


39 


were  frozen,  and  so  noisy  that  it  would  be  almost  impossible 
to  get  within  range  of  him  without  alarming  him.  The  snow 
was  not  deep  enough  to  even  deaden  the  noise,  and  so  was  of 
no  assistance  to  me.  But  I set  out  in  the  direction  from 
whence  the  music  came.  It  came  from  the  top  of  one  of  the 
high  ridges  to  the  south  of  the  canyon,  probably  half  a mile 
from  where  I was.  I had  to  exercise  the  greatest  care  in 
climbing  the  canyon  wall,  and  when  I reached  the  spot 
where  I had  heard  the  whistle  I found  the  tracks,  large  as 
those  of  a three-year-old  steer,  but  the  author  of  them  was 
not  there.  While  I was  pondering  over  them  and  sizing  up 
(in  my  mind)  the  animal  that  could  make  such  tracks,  I 
heard  the  whistle  again  away  to  the  north.  I picked  my  way 
cautiously  through  gulches,  over  “hog-backs”  and  hills,  and 
when  I reached  the  desired  locality  I heard  Mr.  Wapiti 
winding  his  horn  from  the  top  of  another  ridge  half  a mile 
to  the  south. 

Away  I went  again,  trembling  all  the  time  lest  he  should 
wind  me  or  hear  some  of  the  noises  I was  compelled  to  make, 
and  bid  adieu  to  his  present  stamping-ground.  But  he  was  so 
intent  on  finding  some  of  the  coy  maidens  ofi-his  harem 
among  these  hills  that  he  didn’t  notice  me,  and  this  time  as 
I reached  the  brow  of  the  hill  I heard  a movement  in  a 
thicket  ahead,  caught  a faint  outline  of  the  monster  as  he 
passed  through  the  brush,  and  when  he  stopped  I could  see  a 
patch  of  reddish  brown  hair  as  large  as  my  hat.  In  an 
instant  the  old  pill-driver  lay  with  her  heel  pressing  firmly 
against  my  shoulder,  a cloud  of  smoke  arose  from  her  mouth, 
and  there  was  a mad  charge  across  the  top  of  the  ridge  that 
showed  too  plainly  that  the  pill  had  commenced  to  operate. 

As  the  broadside  was  presented  to  me  in  crossing  an 
opening  I sent  in  another  dose,  and  then  all  was  still.  I ran 
up  a little  farther,  and  saw  him  standing  in  another  thicket. 


40 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


He  was  too  badly  hurt  to  run  far,  but  I gave  him  another 
broadsider,  and  he  started  to  run  directly  away  from  me. 
Then  I gave  him  two  in  the  rump.  He  turned  to  right 
again,  and  another  leaden  bolt  caught  him  in  the  shoulder, 
another  through  the  lungs,  and  another  through  the  lower 
jaw,  making  eight  in  all.  Then  he  came  to  bay  again, 
and  I walked  up  to  within  twenty  paces  of  him.  It  was 
useless  to  add  to  his  already  too  great  suffering ; he  could  go 
no  farther.  He  looked  at  me,  shook  his  massive  head, 
pawed  the  ground,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  like  balls  of  fire. 
He  would  have  charged  me,  but  his  strength  was  too  far 
gone. 

Then  was  enacted  the  sublimest  death-scene  I ever  wit- 
nessed. He  trembled  all  over.  He  inhaled  until  his  sides 
expanded  far  beyond  their  natural  size,  he  blew  this  vast 
volume  of  air  from  his  nostrils  in  clouds  of  steam,  accom- 
panied by  a noise  like  the  exhaust  of  a steam  engine.  He 
pawed  up  the  earth  again,  shook  his  head,  then  placed  his 
antlers  to  the  ground,  and  threw  his  weight  upon  them  as  if 
giving  the  death  thrust  to  some  prostrate  antagonist.  In  this 
effort  he  forced  his  body  into  the  air  until  his  feet  cleared  the 
ground,  he  poised  a moment,  fell  with  a heavy  thud  on  his 
side,  blew  the  steam  and  blood  from  his  nostrils  again, — and 
the  great  monster  was  dead  ! Talk  about  great  acting.  I 
have  seen,  great  actors  in  their  greatest  death  scenes,  but  never 
saw  so  grand,  so  awe-inspiring  a death  as  this  real  death  of 
the  Monarch  of  the  Rockies. 

I sat  down  and  gazed  for  twenty  minutes  upon  his  lifeless 
form,  and  bitterly  did  I reproach  myself  for  bringing  to  an 
untimely  end  so  noble,  so  majestic  an  animal.  What  a strange 
passion  it  is  that  leads  men  to  such  slaughter  of  innocent 
creatures,  and  what  a strange  fancy  it  is  that  leads  them  to 
think  such  slaughter  sport ! It  is  too  deep  a problem  for  my 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


41 


finest  pair  of  antlers  I have  ever  seen.  They  have  since  been 
examined  by  the  Hon.  J.  D.  Caton,  Gen.  Strong  and  several 
other  gentlemen  of  high  authority,  all  of  whom  pronounce 
them  the  largest  and  handsomest  pair  they  have  ever  seen. 
Judge  Caton  says  it  would  be  worth  a trip  across  the  conti- 


untutored  mind ; I leave  it  to  the  metaphysician,  to  the 
psychologist. 

When  I had  recovered  from,  this  gloomy  reverie  I walked 
up  and  surveyed  the  fallen  hero.  He  was  indeed  a giant,  much 
larger  than  Huffman’s  sorrel  horse,  which  we  knew  weighed 
at  the  time  over  eight  hundred  pounds.  He  had  by  far  the 


THE  MONARCH  OF  THE  ROCKIES. 


42 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


nent  to  look  at  them.  Each  beam  measures  four  feet  nine 
inches  long,  and  the  spread  is  four  feet  six  inches.  There  are 
six  points  on  one  beam  and  seven  on  the  other. 

I got  the  entire  head  home  in  good  condition,  had  it 
mounted,  and  it  now  occupies  the  most  conspicuous  place  in 
my  “ den.”  As  I pause  in  the  midst  of  this  recital,  and  look 
up  at  it,  it  wears  that  same  grand,  majestic  look  it  wore  there 
on  top  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  in  that  cold  crisp  September 
morning,  and  I have  but  to  give  my  imagination  play,  and  I 
find  myself  surrounded  by  those  same  old  snow-capped  peaks, 
those  tall,  rocky  crags  peering  out  above  the  pine-trees,  which 
are  hung  with  their  crystal  fringe  of  ice,  glittering  in  the 
bright  morning  sun.  I can  feel  that  fresh,  frosty,  invigorat- 
ing atmosphere ; I can  hear  those  frozen  leaves  crush  under 
my  feet  as  I walk,  and  my  blood  dances  through  my  veins  as 
I climb  from  hilltop  to  hilltop  in  pursuit  of  the  noble  quarry, 
stimulated  the  while  by  his  fascinating  whistle.  Ah  ! .soon 
come  the  time  when  I may  again  visit  that  land  of  enchant- 
ment. 

But  how  our  airy  castles  do  crumble  under  the  touch  of 
reality.  Enter  Mrs.  Coquina  with  a towel  around  her  head, 
a broom  in  one  hand,  a dustpan  in  the  other,  and  a smile  on 
her  face,  as  she  says  : 

“ Old  man,  you’d  better  put  in  some  coal,  or  this  fire  will 
be  out.” 


CHAPTER  V. 


A PERILOUS  EXPERIENCE. 

THREE  BEARS  ANXIOUS  FOR  GORE — -THE  COMPANY  RATTLED  — WE  TRY 
THE  EFFECT  OF  NOISE  AND  BLUSTER  — THE  GRIZZLYS  RETIRE  — 
MIKE  AROUSES  THE  ANGER  OF  AN  OLD  SHE-BEAR  — A RACE  FOR  LIFE 
— HUFFMAN  AND  I TO  THE  RESCUE' — TWO  OUT  OF  THREE 
KILLED  — A FINE  VIEW  OF  THE  ROCKIES  — MORE  SPORT  — THE 
CAMP  BROKEN  UP  — WE  START  FOR  HOME. 

And  now  to  return  to  my  narrative.  Either  one  of  the 
eight  balls  that  entered  the  elk’s  carcass  would  have  caused 
his  death  in  time,  but  I was  anxious  to  get  him  down  as  near 
my  temporary  camp  as  possible,  and  for  that  purpose  I kept 
on  shooting  until  I saw  that  he  had  more  lead  than  he  could 
carry  away. 

It  is  frequently  stated  that  the  wapiti  is  the  easiest  of  all 
the  cervidse  to  kill,  that  he  gives  up  sooner  after  being  hit 
than  any  other  member  of  the  family.  But  my  experience 
does  not  lead  me  to  think  so.  Six  of  these  eight  bullets 
passed  entirely  through  his  body  and  yet  he  lived  nearly  half 
an  hour  after  the  last  one  wras  fired.  His  was  an  exceptional 
case  of  vitality,  but  all  the  others  that  I have  killed  or  seen 
killed  required  very  hard  hitting  and  in  vital  parts  to  bring 
them  down. 

After  admiring  my  prize  to  my  entire  satisfaction,  I re- 
turned to  my  temporary  camp  to  wait  for  Huffman  and  the 
others  of  the  party.  They  put  in  an  appearance  about  noon. 
Huffman  made  his  views  of  the  two  elk ; we  cut  them  up 
and  packed  the  best  of  the  meat  on  one  of  his  pack-horses, 

and  he,  Mike  and  I went  up  to  the  other  carcass.  When  we 

43 


44 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


arrived  we  were  surprised  to  find  that  a bear  nad  been  at  it, 
and  had  torn  it  slightly  and  eaten  a small  portion  of  it,  but 
not  enough  to  interfere  with  our  purpose.  As  soon  as  Huff- 
man had  completed  his  work,  Mike  and  I proceeded  to  skin 
the  carcass  and  take  off  the  head.  While  thus  engaged,  and 
while  Huffman  was  packing  his  outfit  on  his  horse,  we  heard 
strange  noises  on  the  hillside  above  us,  and  looking  up  we 
saw  three  grizzly  bears  charging  down  upon  us.  For  a mo- 
ment we  were  horror-stricken.  They  were  between  us  and 
our  guns  when  we  first  saw  them,  and  if  we  ran  and  left  our 
horses  they  would  break  loose  and  we  would  probably  never 
see  them  again.  We  dared  not  even  leave  them  to  tree  our- 
selves, and  could  not  possibly  mount  them  to  get  away, 
for  they  were  crazed  with  fright,  and  we  were  com- 
pelled to  stay  by  them.  The  bears  had  been  there  and  got  a 
taste  of  the  elk,  just  enough  to  make  them  ferocious,  when 
they  had  heard  us  coming  back,  and  had  retreated  into  the 
woods.  They  had  waited  for  us  to  get  away  as  long  as  they 
cared  to,  and  had  then  resolved  to  drive  us  away  or  eat  us  up, 
and  they  didn’t  seem  to  care  which. 

They  had  evidently  sized  us  up  from  away  back  on  top  of 
the  hill,  and  knew  just  what  and  who  we  were,  and  how 
many  there  were  of  us.  They  seemed  to  come  for  gore,  and 
lots  of  it. 

It  was  the  most  frightful  assault  that  ever  I looked  at. 
They  came  like  a band  of  redskins  assaulting  an  emigrant  train 
and  trying  to  stampede  the  stock.  They  were  fairly  jumping 
over  each  other  in  their  eagerness  to  be  the  first  in  the  fight. 
They  were  roaring  like  infuriated  bulls,  growling  and  snarling 
like  mad  dogs,  puffing  and  snorting  like  locomotive  engines, 
and  the  brush  was  cracking  under  them  as  if  they  were  great 
rocks  rolling  dowm  from  the  top  of  some  mountain  peak. 
Huffman  had  a buckskin  lariat  on  “ old  sorrel  ” with  a hack- 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


45 


more  around  his  nose,  and  at  the  first  sight  of  the  infuriated 
beasts  had  taken  a turn  around  his  hand  with  the  lariat.  The 
horse  reared  and  charged  until  he  threw  Huffman  into  the 
branches  of  the  tree  to  which  he  was  tied,-  and  lodged  him  in 
them  six  feet  from  the  ground.  We  were  all  fearfully  rattled 
for  a moment,  for  the  assault  was  so  purely  unnatural  and 
unexpected. 

We  should  not  have  been  half  so  much  surprised  had  the 
assaulting  party  been  Indians,  but  we  did  not  expect  and 
were  not  prepared  for  either.  But  we  pulled  our  knives  and 
rushed  at  them,  yelled  like  savages,  swung  our  hats,  and 
when  they  found  we  were  not  going  to  run  they  halted, 
looked  at  us  a moment,  turned  and  walked  slowly  and  sulkily 
back  up  the  hill  into  the  thick  underbrush,  and  were  out  of 
sight  by  the  time  they  had  gone  twenty  yards.  Mike  now 
got  hold  of  his  gun  and  started  in  pursuit,  leaving  Huffman 
and  I still  in  charge  of  the  horses.  He  walked  cautiously  up 
the  hill  a few  paces  looking  for  the  game,  when  suddenly  the 
old  female  bear  sprang  at  him  from  a clump  of  bushes  right 
at  his  side. 

She  was  within  six  feet  of  him  when  he  first  saw  her,  and 
there  was  no  time  for  shooting ; at  least  he  thought  there 
wasn’t,  and  he  turned  and  came  back  down  the  hill  bare- 
headed, his  face  as  fair  as  a lily,  his  hair  (what  little  he  had) 
and  his  coat-tail  standing  straight  out  behind  him, — clearing 
about  twenty  feet  at  each  jump,  and  the  bear  lighting  in  his 
tracks  as  soon  as  he  wras  out  of  them.  Huffman  and  I left 
the  horses,  rushed  at  the  bear  again,  whooped  and  yelled  for 
life  (that  is,  for  Mike’s  life),  and  again  succeeded  in 
checking  the  savage  brute.  She  walked  sullenly  back  up  the 
hill  again.  I now  got  hold  of  my  rifle  and  reinforced  Mike. 
We  both  moved  on  the  enemy,  this  time  more  cautiously, 
Mike  shaking  like  a leaf  from  the  terrible  rattling  he  had 


46 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


just  gone  through.  We  had  gone  but  a few  feet  when  he 
caught  sight  of  the  old  lady  again,  and  with  a lucky  shot 
landed  a bullet  in  the  butt  of  her  ear,  laying  her  dead  within 
twenty  feet  of  us.  At  the  report  of -his  rifle  one  of  the 
others  raised  on  its  haunches  and  I sent  a bullet  through  its 


UNITED  IN  DEATH. 


heart,  making  another  funeral  in  that  family.  The  third  one 
concluded  he  wasn’t  hungry  just  then,  and,  skipping  away 
through  the  jungle,  made  his  escape  without  giving  either  of 
us  a shot  at  him. 

We  dragged  the  corpses  of  the  two  down  and  laid  them 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES.  4*7 

tenderly  alongside  of  the  elk,  and  Huffman  leveled  his 
camera  on  them  again  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  admiring 
multitude. 

I have  heard  a great  many  stories  of  bears  attacking 
persons  without  having  first  been  attacked  or  hurt  themselves, 
but  never  believed  them.  I have  always  considered  them 
“ bear  stories,”  and  have  allowed  them  to  pass  in  at  one  ear 
and  out  at  the  other.  But  the  experience  of  that  afternoon 
banished  all  skepticism  from  my  mind  on  that  topic.  I am 
prepared  to  believe  implicity  hereafter  that  a grizzly  will 
fight  for  fresh  meat,  and  shall  in  the  future  govern  myself 
accordingly. 

Many  of  my  friends  have  expressed  surprise  at  our  being 
able  to  check  them  by  rushing  at  them  and  without  coming 
into  actual  contact  with  them.  We  hardly  expected  to  be 
able  to  do  so  ourselves,  and  could  only  account  for  it  by 
calling  to  mind  instances  in  which  we  have  seen  a ferocious, 
savage  dog  rush  at  a man  with  the  intention  of  tearing  him  to 
pieces,  and  have  seen  him  quell  and  turn  away  under  the 
influence  of  a stern  and  defiant  demeanor  assumed  by  his 
intended  victim. 

Our  assailants  were  not  frightened,  understand,  any  more 
than  was  the  savage  dog,  but  they  walked  slowly  and  reluc- 
tantly away,  in  each  case  frequently  looking  back  over  their 
shoulders  and  showing  us  their  ugly  teeth.  If  we  had 
attempted  flight  instead  of  standing  our  ground  we  would 
undoubtedly  have  furnished  the  cold  meat  for  a grizzly  pic- 
nic. 

Mike  says  he  don’t  want  to  run  any  more  grizzlies  unless 
they  are  muzzled  and  hobbled.  He  says  he  likes  to  see  a dog 
so  well  trained  that  he  will  come  promptly  to  heel  when 
bidden,  but  he  don’t  care  to  find  another  she  “bar”  so 
blamed  fresh  that  she  will  insist  on  coming  to  heel  without 


48 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


his  bidding.  But  he  showed  good  leather  in  staying  in  the 
fight  until  it  was  over.  He  had  as  close  a call  for  a funeral 
as  any  man  ever  had  that  escaped  it,  and  the  shaking  up  that 
he  and  even  Huffman  and  I got  would  have  scared  any  man 
that  ever  wore  pants.  The  woods  are  full  of  hunters  that  had 
they  been  dealt  the  hand  that  Mike  got,  would  have  been 
running  yet. 

Nothing  of  importance  was  done  the  next  forenoon.  In 
the  afternoon  Weise,  Sawyer  and  Allen  returned  and  skinned 
the  two  bears,  after  which  they  hunted  up  the  canyon  some 
distance.  They  saw  another  large  grizzly,  and  Sawyer  got  a 
shot  at  him  at  long  range,  through  thick  brush,  and  missed. 
The  bear  then  ran  across  toward  Allen  who  got  in  two 
running  shots,  but  with  no  better  success.  As  they  were 
returning  Weise  killed  a grizzly  cub,  and  saw  an  old  one  go 
spinning  off  through  the  thicket  near  by,  but  didn’t  get  a 
shot  at  her. 

Wednesday  the  20th  we  moved  camp  up  to  the  mouth  of 
the  canyon,  and  spent  the  day  in  making  a new  camp. 
Thursday  hunted  up  canyon  to  the  top  of  the  -range,  from 
which  we  had  a fine  view  of  the  main  range  of  the  Rockies, 
away  off  to  the  southwest.  We  could  also  see  steam  issuing 
from  the  geysers  in  the  National  Park.  Saw  no  game  except 
blue  grouse,  and  no  signs  of  anything  larger.  Thursday  was 
uneventful,  but  on  Friday  afternoon  Sawyer  and  Weise  went 
back  to  the  elk  carcasses,  and  each  got  another  shot  at  a large 
grizzly,  but  again  made  “unaccountable”  misses.  About 
this  time  Allen  was  visited  by  a large  carbuncle,  which  landed 
on  his  cheek,  and  almost  confined  him  to  camp  for  the  next 
two  or  three  days.  Otherwise  things  were  quiet ; no  one 
made  any  good  scores  during  that  time.  Sawyer  set  his  gun 
near  the  elk  carcass,  Sunday  evening,  with  a piece  of  fresh 
meat  at  the  muzzle,  and  a string  leading  from  it  to  the  trigger. 


RUSTLINGS  IN  THE  ROCKIES. 


49 


Early  Monday  morning  all  hands  started  for  the  front  to  see 
what  it  had  killed.  Sure  enough  on  arriving  there  they  found 
that  the  bate  had  been  disturbed,  and  the  gun  discharged. 
There  were  a few  tracks  of  a bear  still  visible,  but  owing  to  a 
heavy  rain  having  fallen  in  the  meantime,  the  trail  could  not 
be  followed. 

Allen  took  a seat  in  a tree  near  the  elk  carcass,  and  before 
be  had  been  there  half  an  hour,  heard  the  familiar  “oh-woh, 
oh-woh  ” of  a black  bear,  and  looking  up  the  hill  saw  one 
coming  directly  toward  him.  He  waited  until  it  came  within 
about  twenty  yards,  when  he  fired,  the  ball  striking  just  in 
the  sticking  place,  ranging  upward  and  breaking  the  spine. 
Bruin  never  smiled  again.  When  returning  in  the  afternoon 
the  grizzly  that  had  fallen  a victim  to  Sawyer’s  set  gun  the 
night  before,  was  found.  Ele  was  a very  large  one,  was  shot 
through  the  paunch  and  lay  within  one,  hundred  yards  of 
where  the  gun  was  set. 

Wednesday  the  27th  all  hands  went  up  the  same  canyon 
again  and  found  plenty  of  fresh  elk  signs.  Sawyer  soon  got 
sight  of  a cow  about  two  hundred  yards  away,  running  across 
him.  He  fired  when  she  turned,  and  ran  the  other  way. 
He  fired  again  and  knocked  her  down,  but  she  got  up  at 
once,  ran  again  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  We  tried  to  trail 
her  by  the  blood,  but  could  not  find  her.  In  a few  minutes 
we  heard  Mike  put  in  seven  shots  in  rapid  succession,  and 
then  shout.  We  went. to  him  and  found  he  had  killed  a fine 
cow.  We  dressed  her,  hung  the  hide,  tallow  and  most  of  the 
meat  up  in  a tree,  and  went  to  camp. 

The  time  had  now  arrived  for  us  to  close  the  present  cam- 
paign,  and  on  the  morrow,  after  collecting  the  meat,  hides, 
etc.,  and  bringing  them  in,  we  broke  camp  and  started  home. 
And  thus  endeth  the  narrative  of  our  three  weeks  of  “ Rust- 
lings in  the  Rockies.” 

4 


CHAPTER  VI. 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 

AWAY  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  — THE  RED  RIVER  VALLEY  — A GARDEN  IN 
THE  DESERT  — FROM  BISMARCK  TO  GLENDIVE — THE  BAD  LANDS 
ON  THE  LITTLE  MISSOURI  — “HELL  WITH  THE  FIRE  OUT”  — FOUR 
HUNDRED  AND  SEVENTY-THREE  BRIDGES  IN  TWO  HUNDRED  AND 
TWENTY-ONE  MILES — A DRIVE  UP  THE  YELLOWSTONE  — BUTCHERS 
AND  BUFFALOES  — A WORD  OF  WARNING — OFF  TO  THE  BIG  HORN. 

A year  ago  to-day  I started  on  my  first  trip  to  Montana, 
and  to-day,  August  27,  1881,  I find  myself  at  the  Chicago, 
Milwaukee  & St.  Paul  depot,  with  my  rifle,  cartridges,  hunting 
suit,  and  camp  equipage  packed,  preparatory  to  another  journey 
to  the  same  mystic  quarter  of  the  world,  only  that  I am  bound 
further  into  the  territory  this  time  than  before,  and  also  into 
the  northern  portion  of  Wyoming,  my  main  objective  point 
this  time  being  the  Big  Horn  mountains. 

I told  the  baggage  man  to  check  my  baggage  to  Glendive, 
Montana. 

“ Glendive  ! Is  that  all  the  further  you’re  going  ?” 

No,  but  that  is  as  far  as  I can  ride — I shall  have  to  walk 
the  rest  of  the  way. 

My  ticket  secured,  I retired  to  rest  in  the  elegant  and  lux- 
urious sleeper  attached  to  the  train,  and  awoke  next  morning 
at  La  Crosse.  At  one  p.m.  we  landed  in  the  new  union  depot 
at  St.  Paul.  Here  I stopped  to  visit  a friend  until  the  next 
evening  at  seven  o’clock,  when  I boarded  the  train  on  the 
Northern  Pacific  railroad,  and  we  pulled  out  for  Bismarck. 
While  in  St.  Paul,  I had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  that  sterling 

old  soldier,  Major  Guido  Ilges,  who  commanded  the  perilous 

50 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


51 


expedition  to  the  Upper  Missouri  in  the  winter  of  1879-80, 
in  which  the  Sioux  chief  Gall  and  his  band  were  captured. 
This  was  a movement  of  great  value  and  importance  to  the 
country,  for  it  virtually  broke  up  the  hostile  element  of  the 
Sioux  nation.  It  left  them  too  weak  to  successfully  hold  out 
against  the  army  longer,  and  the  ultimate  surrender  of  Crow 
King,  Log  Dog,  Sitting  Bull  and  the  others,  followed  as  a 
necessary  consequence. 

After  a night’s  run  from  St.  Paul,  we  entered  the  famous 
Red  river  valley,  the  greatest  wheat  growing  country  in  the 
world.  The  crop  this  year  is  bountiful,  and  is  now  being 
threshed  and  shipped.  Steam  threshers  can  be  seen  at  work 
in  every  direction,  and  the  grain,  in  many  instances,  is  being 
hauled  directly  to  the  stations,  and  loaded  into  cars.  West 
of  Fargo  to  Bismarck,  there  are  still  millions  of  acres  of  un- 
cultivated lands,  as  rich  and  as  valuable  for  farming  and  graz- 
ing purposes  as  any  of  those  that  are  already  under  cultivation. 
But  they  are  settling  up  rapidly. 

Years  ago,  when  this  road  was  first  projected,  there  were 
those  who  pronounced  its  originators  insane.  It  was  said  that 
if  a road  were  built  across  the  continent  this  far  north,  it 
could  not  be  operated  more  than  six  months  in  the  year,  ow- 
ing to  the  terrible  winters  experienced  in  this  latitude  ; but 
in  practical  contradiction  of  this  theory,  the  fact  is  announced 
that,  while  so  many  roads  further  south  were  blockaded  by  snow 
during  a greater  portion  of  that  terrible  winter  of  1879-80,  the 
Northern  Pacific  was  not  blockaded  a single  day.  It  was  said 
that  the  region  through  which  the  line  was  to  run  was  a bleak, 
snowy,  inhospitable  desert,  where  nothing  in  the  way  of 
farm  or  garden  products  could  be  made  to  grow,  and  where 
stock,  as  well  as  human  beings,  must  inevitably  perish  from 
cold.  But  the  hundreds  of  prosperous  farms,  the  beautiful 
crops,  and  the  large  and  successful  stock  ranches  all  along  the 


52 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


route,  far  up  toward  the  Rocky  Mountains,  give  us  ocular 
demonstration  of  the  fact  that  the  desert  has  been  made  to 
blossom  as  the  rose.  And  not  only  has  it  been  found  possi- 
ble to  build  a railroad  and  till  the  soil  in  this  latitude,  but  the 
Canadian  government  is  building  a trans-continental  road  on 
a line  two  to  three  hundred  miles  north  of  this,  that  promises 
equally  favorable  results. 

We  arrived  at  Bismarck  at  six  o’clock  in  the  evening,  and 
stopped  over  night. 

Mr.  John  Leasure,  an  intimate  friend  of  former  days, 
whom  I met  here,  entertained  me  very  pleasantly  during  the 
evening  with  an  account  of  a hunt  in  which  he  participated, 
in  the  Musselshell  country,  a few  years  ago.  The  party  killed 
a number  of  grizzly  and  cinnamon  bears,  elk,^  mountain 
sheep,  deer,  etc.  He  says  it  is  one  of  the  best  localities  in 
the  West  for  game  of  this  class.  He  is  a frontiersman  of 
several  years’  experience,  and  a skillful  and  successful  hunter. 

We  left  Bismarck  at  six  o’clock  the  next  morning  for 
Glendive,  the  then  terminus  of  the  road  ; passed  through  a 
beautiful  series  of  valleys,  including  the  Hart,  the  Curlew, 
the  Knife,  the  Cannonball  and  others,  through  each  of  which 
flow  streams  of  water,  varying  in  size  as  well  as  quality — 
some  of  them  being  pure  and  others  tinctured  with  alkali. 
But  there  is  plenty  of  sweet  water  for  agricultural  purposes, 
and  the  land  is  as  finely  situated  for  farming  or  stock  growing 
as  any  one  could  desire. 

We  passed  through  the  world-famous  Bad  Lands,  border- 
ing the  Little  Missouri,  during  the  afternoon.  These  have 
been  described  so  often  by  various  writers  that  I will  not  here 
detain  the  reader  by  adding  anything  to  what  has  already 
been  said,  and  besides  no  one,  though  he  may  read  volumes 
of  descriptions  of  this  marvellous  region,  can  form  any  con- 
ception of  what  these  Bad  Lands  are  like.  They  must  be 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


5S 


seen  to  be  intelligently  understood.  General  Sully’s  descrip- 
tion of  them,  however,  will  bear  repetition  here,  for  it  is 
mirftuni  in  parvo.  He  tersely  characterized  them  as  “hell 
with  the  fire  out.”  Some  idea  of  the  expense  of  building  a 
railroad  through  this  country  and  along  these  winding  streams 
may  be  derived  from  the  fact  that  there  are  473  bridges  on 
the  Missouri  division,  which  is  only  221  miles  long. 

We  arrived  at  Glendive  at  7:30  o’clock  in  the  evening, 
and  were  cordially  greeted  by  Major  Bell  and  Lieutenant 
Slocum,  of  the  Seventh  cavalry.  Mr.  T.  C.  Kurtz,  who  is  in 
charge  of  the  company’s  store  at  that  place,  fed  and  lodged 
us. in  a most  hospitable  and  comfortable  manner.  As  soon  as 
I arrived,  I commenced  to  figure  on  the  means  of  getting 
from  there  to  Miles  City  and  Fort  Keough.  Fortunately  I 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  G.  E.  Bushnell,  an  army  sur- 
geon, who  was  en  route  to  Fort  Ellis,  via  Fort  Keough,  and 
who  was  coming  through  in  an  ambulance.  I drew  on  my 
ample  supply  of  cheek,  and  requested  permission  to  accom- 
pany him,  which  he  kindly  granted.  Accordingly  we  left 
Glendive  at  seven  o’clock  the  next  morning,  on  a construc- 
tion train  destined  for  Cabin  Creek,  fifteen  miles  further  on, 
where  the  Doctor’s  ambulance  was  awaiting  him. 

We  reached  it  in  good  time,  hastily  transferred  ourselves 
to  it,  and  our  baggage  to  an  escort  wagon,  and  were  off  for  a 
seventy  miles  drive  up  the  Yellowstone.  The  mules  were  in 
good  condition,  the  drivers  gave  them  the  buckskin  vigor- 
ously, and  the  cloud  of  dust  we  left  behind  us  showed  the 
other  voyagers  in  the  valley  that  we  were  not  disposed  to 
waste  any  time  making  the  journey.-  We  arrived  at  Captain 
Snider’s  camp,  at  the  mouth  of  Powder  river,  at  four  o’clock 
in  the  evening,  where  a relay  awaited  us.  The  captain  invited 
us  to  a sumptuous  lunch,  which  we  discussed  with  a relish, 
while  the  fresh  teams  were  being  hooked  on.  When  these 


54 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


duties  had  been  performed,  we  resumed  our  seat  in  the  ambu- 
lance and  again  spun  away  over  the  plains. 

The  doctor  was  accompanied  by  his  good  wife,  who  is 
pretty,  witty  and  vivacious,  and  her  conversation  added 
greatly  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  trip.  We  passed  through 
Miles  City  at  half-past  ten,  and  a few  minutes  later  arrived  at 
Fort  Keough,  which  is  situated  two  miles  further  up  the  river. 

I proceeded  at  once  to  the  quarters  of  my  old  friend, 
Captain  Borden.  He  had  retired  for  the  night,  but  a ring  at 
his  door  bell  brought  forth  a stentorian  “ Come  in,”  from  his 
sleeping  apartment.  I obeyed  the  order,  and  as  I entered,  I 
could  discern  in  the  darkness  the  white-robed  form  of  the 
genial  captain  coming  to  meet  me,  and  could  hear  the  thump- 
ity-bump  of  his  bare  feet  on  the  floor. 

I announced  myself,  and  he  replied  in  his  cordial,  whole- 
souled  way,  “Well,  bully  for  you,  Coquina,  I’m  devilish 
glad  to  see  you.” 

“ How  do  you  make  that  out,”  I said,  “ you  haven' t seen 
me  yet.” 

“ Well,  I’m  glad  you’ve  come,  all  the  same,  and  I will  see 
you  as  soon  as  I can  strike  a light.” 

This  accomplished,  we  sat  down  and  had  a “big  talk,” 
which  lasted  into  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  ere  peace 
was  declared,  and  we  both  sought  our  couches. 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  we  spent  it  in  looking  about 
the  post  and  city,  and  in  friendly  intercourse  with  the  various 
officers  at  the  post.  I was  shown  three  elk  that  are  in  one  of 
the  corrals  here — two  bulls  and  a cow.  The  bulls  are  just 
beginning  to  rub  the  velvet  from  their  horns.  The  three 
were  sold  to  a railroad  officer  a few  days  ago  for  fifty  dollars, 
and  will  soon  be  shipped  East.  Capt.  Borden  had  a pet 
antelope  that  one  of  his  men  brought  in  in  the  spring.  It  is  a 
graceful,  handsome  little  creature,  and  made  a beautiful  pet. 


lu  xj  moun-Aa'ns,  ?5 

There  were  a number  of  valuable  dogs  at  the  post,  several 
of  the  officers  being  sportsmen.  General  Whistler,  the  com- 
manding officer,  has  a pack  of  greyhounds  that  are  unusually 
fleet.  His  son,  a young  man  of  seventeen,  is  very  fond  of 
the  chase,  and  under  his  management  the  pack  caught 
ninety-three  antelopes  that  season.  This  record  cannot  pro- 
bably be  excelled  by  any  other  pack  in  the  country. 

There  was  a large  herd  of  buffaloes,  only  twenty  miles 
north  of  the  post,  and  I was  pained  to  ltarn  that  a large 
party  of  butchers,  not  hunters,  were  camped  near  there,  and 
were  slaughtering  them  at  the  rate  of  nearly  a hundred  a day. 
Only  the  skins  were  saved,  and  the  carcasses  left  to  rot.  Even 
the  fur  was  worthless  then.  The  skins  were  shipped  East, 
and  tanned  as  cowhide  and  calfskin,  and  used  as  such  in  the 
manufacture  of  boots  and  shoes.  It  is  a burning  shame  and  a 
disgrace  to  every  citizen  of  this  portion  of  the  country  that 
they  should  allow  this  infamous  and  damnable  traffic  to  be 
carried  on  under  their  very  noses,  when  they  have  the  law, 
the  courts,  law  officers,  and  every  necessary  means  at  their 
disposal,  to  stop  it.  It  only  needs  some  one  to  make  a 
complaint  and  testify  against  the  butchers,  in  order  to  have 
them  severely  punished;  but  no  one  has  nerve  enough,  or 
feels  interest  enough  in  the  matter,  to  go  to  this  trouble,  and 
so  the  slaughter  will  go  on  until  the  last  of  the  noble  bisons 
will  fall  a prey  to  these  human  coyotes,  and  then  the  “ law- 
abiding  citizen”  will  awake  to  a realization  of  the  loss  that 
his  stupidity  has  entailed  upon  him.  He  will  bemoan  his 
loss,  but  I will  tell  him  : “ It  serves  you  right,  you  had 
ample  warning,  and  would  not  act ; now  you  deserve  to  be 
deprived  of  meat  of  any  and  every  kind  all  the  days  of  your 
life.”  Congress  should  pass  a law  to  prohibit  this  slaughter, 
and  place  the  execution  of  it  in  the  hands  of  the  army. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  will  it  be  stopped. 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


Daring  the  day  I called  on  General  Whistler,  and  made 
known  to  him  my  wish  to  visit  the  Big  Horn  mountains, 
when  he  kindly  offered  me  a packer  and  a number  of  pack 
mules  to  transport  my  provisions,  camp  equipage,  etc.  Of 
course  I gladly  availed  myself  of  such  a generous  offer,  and 
at  once  began  preparations  for  the  start.  I also  procured  the 
services  of  Mr.  L.  A.  Huffman,  the  popular  and  skillful  pho- 
tographer of  Miles  City,  to  accompany  me. 

I desired  to  limit  the  party  to  the  smallest  possible  num- 
ber, in  order  to  have  as  little  plunder  to  transport  as  possible, 
and  so  reduced  the  party  to  these  two  men  and  myself. 
Three  pack  mules  were  thought  a sufficient  number  to  carry 
our  outfit.  Capt.  Borden  generously  placed  at  my  disposal  a 
saddle  pony,  which  completed  the  necessary  outfit  for  the 
expedition,  and  Tuesday  morning,  August  30,  1881,  found 
us  with  provisions,  blankets,  tents,  etc.,  packed,  our  rifles 
slung  to  our  saddles,  and  all  ready  to  mount  and  go. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


IN  THE  YELLOWSTONE  VALLEY. 

HOW  I SHOT  A DUCK  — AN  AUGUST  THUNDER-STORM  — MENU  FOR  AN 
EPICURE — ROSEBUD  RIVER  — AN  OLD  BATTLE  FIELD — LAME  DEER 
CREEK  — CUSTER’S  LAST  CAMPING  GROUND  — SCARING  A COYOTE  — 
DOG-IN-THE-MANGER  MEANNESS  OF  CROW  INDIANS. 

We  left  Fort  Keough  on  the  morning  of  the  30th  of  August. 
Our  route  took  us  up  the  Yellowstone  some  twelve  miles, through 
a series  of  as  picturesque  bad  lands  as  are  to  be  found  any- 
where in  the  West.  Their  bold,  rugged,  ever-changing  forms 
and  outlines  rendered  an  otherwise  uneventful  ride  interest- 
ing in  the  extreme. 

After  leaving  the  Yellowstone,  we  took  a southwesterly 
direction  across  a series  of  high  mesa  or  table  lands,  follow- 
ing a well-beaten  wagon  road,  and  jogged  along  at  a rattling 
pace  till  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  went  into 
camp  near  some  water  holes,  having  covered,  in  six  hours, 
thirty  miles.  While  we  were  preparing  dinner  a teal  duck 
came  and  lit  in  one  of  the  water  holes  within  a few  yards  of 
our  camp.  I picked  up  my  rifle  and  said  I would  try  and 
get  it. 

“Yes,”  said  Huffman,  “ you  see  that  you  do  get  it,  and 
I’ll  have  it  in  the  frying  pan  before  it’s  done  kicking.” 

I walked  up  so  that  I could  look  over  the  bank  into  the 
water,  and  saw  the  duck  in  the  midst  of  a bunch  of  grass.  I 
could  not  see  his  head  plainly  enough  to  shoot  at  it  so  I had 
to  take  his  body.  At  the  crack  of  the  rifle  one  of  his  wing? 
flew  as  much  as  twenty  feet  straight  up  into  the  air  and  other 
pieces  went  in  different  directions.  Then  I remembered  that 

57 


58 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


I had  put  in  an  explosive  ball.  I picked  up  what  was  left  of 
the  poor  little  teal,  but  all  I could  find  was  the  head  and  tail, 
held  together  by  a narrow  strip  of  skin  along  what  had  once 
been  its  back.  All  the  rest  had  vanished  into  thin  air,  as  did 
Huffman’s  dreams  of  broiled  teal  when  I showed  him  the 
wreck. 

About  this  time  I noticed  a black  cloud  approaching  from 
the  west,  and  a few  minutes  later  we  heard  distant  mutterings 
of  thunder.  I asked  Huffman  if  we  shouldn’t  put  up  a tent. 
He  said  no,  it  wasn’t  going  to  rain  ; that  it  rarely  rained  in 
this  country  at  this  season  of  the  year.  I was  the  more  will- 
ing to  believe  him,  for  I remembered  that  General  Hazen, 
our  present  chief  clerk  of  the  weather  department,  had  told  us 
some  years  ago  that  the  Yellowstone  valley  was  an  arid,  barren 
desert  and  that  no  rains  ever  fell  there  except  in  the  late  fall 
and  early  spring  months.  But  all  signs,  or  at  least  most  of 
them,  fail  in  wet  weather  and  just  as  we  got  dinner  ready,  the 
sky  became  suddenly  obscured  with  low,  dense  clouds  of  inky 
blackness,  that  rapidly  changed  near  the  horizon  to  a light 
colored,  foamy,  smoky  looking  mass,  that  whirled  and  rolled 
as  it  approached  like  the  column  of  steam  from  one  of  the 
great  geysers,  indicating  that  it  was  accompanied  with  a high 
wind.  The  lightning  played  through  all  parts  of  the  heavens, 
from  dome  to  horizon,  with  such  vivid  fury  as  to  almost  blind 
us.  The  artillery  of  heaven  pealed  forth  in  volumes  that 
almost  shook  the  earth  beneath  our  feet ; rolling,  echoing  and 
reverberating  among  the  neighboring  hills  and  over  the  vast 
prairies,  as  if  sent  to  awaken  the  dead  from  their  last  sleep. 
While  we  were  watching  and  listening  to  these  demonstra- 
tions, transfixed  with  amazement  at  the  unusual  and  almost 
unnatural  phenomenon  of  a thunder  storm  here  in  August, 
the  rain  burst  upon  us  with  such  violence  and  in  such  a dense 
body  as  almost  to  prostrate  us  at  the  first  shock.  Huffman 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


59 


and  Jack  Conley,  our  packer,  sought  shelter  under  a large 
sheet  of  canvas  that  they  had  hastily  spread  upon  the  appare- 
jos  to  protect  them  from  the  storm.  I quickly  drew  on  my 
rubber  coat,  preferring  to  stand  out  and  watch  the  grand  play 
of  the  elements.  Our  poor  mules  and  my  pony  turned  theii 
heads  toward  the  storm  and  stood  and  took  it  like  veterans 
The  storm  lasted  about  half  an  hour  and  was  as  violent  as  anj 
I ever  saw.  When  it  subsided,  the  coulee  near  which  we  wert 
camped  and  in  which  before  there  were  only  a few  pools  o 
water,  was  now  alive  with  a roaring  torrent.  The  country  aP 
about  us  was  drenched  and  washed,  and  General  Hazen,  ci 
any  one  else,  need  never  tell  us  again  that  it  don’t  rain  in  th 
Yellowstone  valley  in  summer. 

Now  that  the  storm  was  over,  we  began  to  look  about  j 
to  see  what  had  become  of  our  dinner.  We  had  no  shelter  ,o 
put  it  under,  and  were  obliged  to  leave  it  to  the  mercy  of  .he 
storm.  We  collected  the  fragments,  together,  reconstri^ted 
them  to  the  best  of  our  ability,  and  sat  down  to  a repast,  of 
which  the  following  is  about  the 

MENU. 

SOUP. 

Cold  rainwater. 

MEATS. 

Breakfast  bacon,  rainwater  sauce. 

GAME. 

Teal  Duck,  all  shot  away. 

Poker, UP’}  After  dinnen 

ENTREES. 

Pork  and  Beans,  soaked  in  rainwatfc 
VEGETABLES. 

Fried  Potatoes,  ditto. 

BREAD. 

Hot  biscuit,  ditto. 

Hard  tack,  ditto. 

DRINKS. 

Coffee,  diluted  with  rainwater,  three  t»  one. 

Rainwater  straight. 


60 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


After  dinner  we  put  up  our  tent,  just  as  some  men  lock  up 
their  barn  after  their  best  horse  has  been  stolen.  We  went 
to  a hay-stack  near  camp,  and  got  hay  for  our  animals  and 
Tor  beds,  and  slept  comfortably. 

At  noon  the  next  day  we  reached  the  Rosebud  river,  a 
stream  that  has  been  rendered  famous  by  the  Indian  cam- 
paigns of  Generals  Terry,  Crook,  Custer  and  Miles.  Then- 
trails  may  still  be  seen  at  frequent  intervals,  leading  into  oi- 
out  of  the  valley,  and  remains  of  their  old  camp-fires  may  be 
found  on  every  available  camping-ground.  The  Rosebud  is  a* 
narrow,  deep,  clear,  swift-running  stream,  that  looks 'as  if  it 
might  bear  bass,  pike  and  other  game  fishes,  but  I am  told 
that  the  catfish  is  the  only  species  known  to  inhabit  its  waters. 
The  valley  is  broad,  level,  fertile,  and  will  eventually  all  be 
turned  over  by  the  plow  and  produce  good  crops.  There  are 
no  settlements  on  it  yet,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three 
cattle  ranches.  Several  other  ranches  have  been  located,  but 
the  “shacks”  have  not  yet  been  built.  The  valley  is 
enclosed  on  either  side  with  a range  of  hills  that  are  down 
on  the  map  as  the  Rosebud  mountains,  though  they  are 
scarcely  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  entitle  them  to  such  dis- 
tinction. Nearly  all  the  peaks  or  buttes  are  capped  with  red, 
fire-baked  clay,  and  the  stream  takes  its  name  from  the  fancied 
resemblance  these  hills  bear  to  rosebuds.  The  immediate 
banks  of  the  stream  are  covered  with  a light  growth  of  timber, 
mostly  cottonwood.  It  make  good  fuel,  and  this  is  about  the 
only  use  that  can  be  made  of  it,  though  an  inferior  quality  of 
fence  posts  and  railroad  ties  may  be  manufactured  from  it. 
None  of  the  trees  are  large  enough  for  lumber.  The  only 
game  found  on  this  stream,  now,  is  deer;  and  they  are  scarce, 
owing  to  its  having  been  hunted  so  persistently  both  by 
soldiers  and  Indians. 

At  noon  on  the  ist  of  September  we  passeci  a point  further 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


61 


up  the  river,  where  the  Bozeman  expedition,  a party  of  citi- 
zens who  left  Bozeman  in  1S74  to  explore  the  Yellowstone  val- 
ley, were  corraled  by  Sioux  Indians  and  besieged  for  several 
days.  The  party  numbered  one  hundred  and  thirty  men, 
and  the  rifle  pits  which  they  constructed  and  occupied  are 
still  intact.  They  lost  a large  number  of  horses  in  the  fight, 
the  bones  of  which  still  lie  bleaching  on  the  field.  The 
Indians  finally  abandoned  the  siege  and  withdrew,  after 
sacrificing  several  of  their  number  to  the  deadly  aim  of  the 
white  hunters’  rifles.  None  of  the  whites  were  injured. 

During  the  afternoon,  we  found  a covey  of  eight  sharp- 
tail  grouse  in  the  sage  brush  near  the  road,  and  got  seven  of 
them  with  our  rifles  before  they  got  out  of  reach.  Our  large 
bore  rifles  cut  them  up  pretty  badly,  but  we  managed  to  save 
the  breasts  of  them  all,  and  they  made  us  a good  supper  and 
breakfast.  This  was  the  first  game  we  had  found  on  the  trip. 

That  night  we  camped  near  the  mouth  of  Lame  Deer 
creek,  on  the  scene  of  Gen.  Miles’  fight  with  a band  of 
Minne  Conjoux  and  Ogelalla  Sioux,  under  chief  Lame  Deefj 
in  1878.  The  Indians  were  defeated  and  captured.  Lame 
Deer  was  cornered  in  a coulee,  and  seeing  there  was  no 
chance  of  escape,  came  out  and  surrendered.  He  walked  up 
to  Gen.  Miles  ostensibly  to  deliver  his  arms  to  him.  The 
General  sat  upon  his  horse,  and,  when  within  a few  feet  of 
him,  Lame  Deer  suddenly  raised  his  rifle,  aimed  it  full  at  the 
General’s  breast,  and  fired.  The  General  kicked  the  muzzle 
of  the  gun  to  one  side  just  in  time  to  save  his  own  life,  but 
the  ball  passed  by  him  and  killed  his  orderly,  who  sat  on 
another  horse  just  behind  him.  The  treacherous  red  skin 
then  started  to  run,  but  a volley  from  the  soldiers’  carbines 
filled  his  worthless  skin  full  of  bullet-holes,  and  sent  him  over 
the  divide  forever. 

During  the  forenoon  of  the  2d  of  September  v e passed  the 


62 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


place  where  poor  Custer  made  his  last  camp.  In  the  early 
morning  he  had  sighted  the  Indian  village  in  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Big  Horn,  from  the  top  of  one  of  the  peaks  of  the 
Wolf  mountains,  thirty-five  miles  east  of  here,  and  rode  from 
there  to  this  point  on  the  Rosebud,  where  he  halted  only  for 
his  men  to  make  coffee  — it  can  scarcely  be  called  a camp, 
strictly  speaking  — and  as  soon  as  they  had  swallowed  their 
frugal  meal,  they  remounted,  rode  all  night,  and  struck  the 
Sioux  village  at  daylight ; with  what  fatal  consequences  to 
himself  and  his  brave  band  we  all  know,  alas  ! too  well.  The 
remnants  of  their  camp-fires  still  lie  scattered  over  the  river 
bottom,  as  melancholy  relics  of  this,  their  last  supper.  Poor, 
brave  boys  ! little  did  they  think,  as  they  sipped  their  coffee 
and  ate  their  hard  bread  around  these  fires,  that  the  morrow’s 
sun  would  shine  upon  their  lifeless  forms,  and  that  not  one  of 
them  would  live  to  tell  the  world  how  his  comrades  fell. 

The  two  branches  of  the  Rosebud  unite  here,  and  the 
locality  is  called  the  “Forks  of  the  Rosebud.”  We  con- 
tinued our  march  up  the  south  fork,  as  it  would  take  us  into 
the  mountains  farther  south  than  would  the  north  fork.  As 
we  rode  leisurely  along,  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a 
coyote  broke  cover  some  two  hundred  yards  ahead  of  us,  and 
started  on  his  long,  shambling  trot  across  the  prairie.  We 
turned  our  artillery  loose  on  him,  and  to  use  a frontier  phrase, 
literally  set  the  ground  afire  all  around  him.  We  didn’t  take 
the  trouble  to  dismount,  but  sat  in  our  saddles  and  “fanned” 
him  just  for  fun.  We  fired  no  less  than  twenty  shots  at  him, 
and,  though  none  of  them  hit  him,  we  made  it  so  hot  for  him 
that  he  scarcely  knew  which  way  to  run.  Occasionally  a ball 
would  strike  just  in  front  of  him,  plowing  the  dirt  into  his 
face,  when  he  would  change  his  course,  and  no  sooner  get 
started  in  another  direction  than  a repetition  of  the  offense 
would  give  him  another  whirls  Then  three  bullets  would 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


63 


strike  on  as  many  sides  of  him  at  once,  and  he  would  jump 
as  if  trying  to  get  out  of  his  skin.  Finally,  when  he  did  get 
out  of  our  range,  he  did  some  of  the  tallest  running  I have 
seen  done  in  many  a day,  and  I don’t  believe  he  stopped 
before  dark  that  night. 

Just  before  going  into  camp  that  evening,  we  saw  five 
deer  standing  near  the  foot  of  a hill,  about  six  hundred  yards 
away,  looking  at  us.  We  all  dismounted,  knelt  down,  ad- 
justed our  sights  carefully  to  what  we  judged  the  distance  to 
be,  and  fired  at  the  largest  buck.  As  our  smoke  cleared 
away,  we  saw  him  turn  a somersault,  and  fall  dead.  We 
made  camp,  went  and  brought  him  in,  and  from  that  time  on 
had  plenty  of  fresh  meat. 

The  Crow  Indians  had  burned  the  grass  all  along  the 
Rosebud  and  Little  Big  Horn  rivers,  and  on  the  intervening 
table-lands,  so  that  we  often  had  great  difficulty  in  finding 
grazing  for  our  animals.  The  country  in  question  is  covered 
by  their  reservation,  and  it  is  supposed  that  they  have  burned 
it  to  prevent  the  white  ranchmen  from  grazing  their  cattle, 
or  making  hay  on  the  reservation.  They  are  becoming  hos- 
tile toward  the  whites,  and  have  ordered  several  parties  of 
white  hunters,  haymakers,  etc.,  off  their  land.  They  have 
even  gone  so  far  as  to  burn  several  stacks  of  hay  that  had 
been  cut  on  the  reservation  contrary  to  their  wishes.  By 
these  and  other  hostile  demonstrations,  they  are  brewing  a 
storm  over  their  heads  that  will  burst  upon  them  one  of  these 
days,  and  they  will  be  driven  off  their  lands  as  the  Sioux, 
Utes,  and  other  tribes  have  been  in  the  past.  The  fact  of 
ranchmen  or  military  parties  cutting  hay  on  their  lands  is  not 
a matter  they  should  object  to  at  all,  for  the  grass  is  there, 
they  (the  Indians)  will  not  cut  it,  and  if  not  cut  it  rots  or  is 
burned  on  the  ground.  It  is  better  for  all  concerned  that  it 
should  be  harvested  and  utilized,  and  this  dog-in-the-manger 


64 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


policy  of  the  Crows  is  making  violent  enemies  of  all  the 
ranchmen  in  the  surrounding  country. 

As  to  game,  there  are  thousands  of  heads  of  it  on  the 
Crow  lands,  and  they  rarely  kill  any  except  buffalo.  So  long 
as  they  can  draw  rations  and  annuities  from  the  government, 
they  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  hunt,  further  than  to  go  out 
once  or  twice  a year,  and  butcher  a lot  of  buffaloes. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


AT  THE  FORKS  OF  THE  ROSEBUD. 

GOOD  LUCK  WITH  THE  GROUSE  — INTERVIEWED  BY  A CROW  SCOUT — FIRST 
SIGHT  OF  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS  — THREE  DEER  KILLED  WITH 
FOUR  SHOTS,  “DEUCED  CLEVAH!” — FANNING  THE  COYOTES  — ALL 
LOADED  FOR  BEAR  — KILLED,  BUT  LOST  AFTER  ALL — WET  GRO- 
CERIES FOR  BREAKFAST. 

We  camped  at  the  forks  of  the  Rosebud  on  the  night  of 
the  2d  of  September  near  the  sight  of  General  Crook’s  fight 
with  the  Sioux,  on  the  17th  of  June,  1876.  The  rifle  pits  are 
still  well  preserved  ; the  position  Crook  occupied  can  easily 
be  traced  by  these,  and  various  other  relics  that  remain  on 
the  field. 

A covey  of  sharp-tailed  grouse  came  within  a few  yards  of 
our  camp  late  in  the  evening,  and  with  a few  lucky  shots  we 
took  the  heads  off  of  five  of  them.  They  were  large  and  fat, 
their  food  being  abundant  on  the  plains  this  season.  Their 
craws  were  full  of  grasshoppers.  The  feathered  life  of  this 
region  includes  several  varieties  of  hawks  common  to  the 
Western  plains,  the  night-hawk,  magpie,  Canada  jay  (com- 
monly called  meat  bird,  or  butcher  bird),  red-headed  wood- 
pecker, golden-winged  woodpecker,  Carolina  dove,  brown 
thrush,  catbird,  red-breasted  robin,  blackbird,  two  or  three 
varieties  of  owls;  the  rose-breasted  grosbeak,  and  two  or 
more  varieties  of  sparrows.  The  woodpecker  must  here  return 
to  first  principles,  to  the  habits  of  his  forefathers,  and  become 
again  an  insectivorous  bird,  for  there  is  not  a particle  of  grain 
raised  within  a hundred  miles  of  here.  In  the  settled  dis* 
tricts  he  has  almost  entirely  abandoned  his  natural  food,  and 
5 65 


66 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUMTAINS. 


become  wholly  a grain  eater,  grain  being  procured  with  less 
labor  on  the  farm  than  insects  ; but  the  individuals  of  this 
species  who  live  on  the  frontier  seem  content,  like  the  pioneer 
of  the  human  species,  to  forego  the  luxuries  of  civilization  for 
the  sake  of  carrying  the  standard  of  their  race  into  the  wilds 
of  the  far  West. 

During  the  afternoon  we  passed  the  camp  of  a band  of 
Crow  Indians,  under  Chief  Two-Bellies.  A scout  came  out 
from  the  camp  and  rode  two  or  three  miles  with  us,  endeavor- 
ing to  find  out  who  we  were,  where  we  were  going,  and  what 
our  object  was  in  thus  trespassing  on  their  reservation.  He 
could  not,  or  at  least  pretended  he  could  not  speak  or  under- 
stand a word  of  English,  and  the  conversation  was  carried  on 
with  him  by  signs.  After  he  had  obtained  the  information 
he  came  for,  he  asked  us  where  we  were  going  to  camp  that 
night,  and  said  he  would  like  to  eat  with  us,  but  we  told  him 
we  were  going  to  ride  fifteen  miles  yet  before  camping,  and 
thinking  that  would  be  rather  a long  ride  for  the  sake  of  ob- 
taining a square  meal,  he  turned  and  rode  back  to  his  village. 
We  expected  that  another  party  would  be  sent  after  us  to 
order  us  off  the  reservation,  but  were  agreeably  disappointed. 
We  should  not  have  obeyed  such  an  order  if  it  had  come, 
but  preferred  not  to  antagonize  the  lordly  proprietors  of  the  soil. 

Wild  fruits  were  very  plentiful  along  the  Rosebud,  after 
we  got  well  up  toward  its  head,  and.  we  feasted  on  plums  and 
choke-cherries  ; both  being  large,  thoroughly  ripe,  and  of 
delicious  flavor. 

Having  followed  the  Rosebud  nearly  to  its  head  — to 
where  it  was  a mere  rill  that  one  could  easily  step  across — we 
left  it  early  the  next  morning,  and  started  across  the  divide  to 
the  Little  Big  Horn.  We  reached  the  top  of  the  divide  at 
ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  and  here,  for  the  first  time,  we 
saw  with  eager  eyes  what  we  had  so  long  been  seeking,  the 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


C7 


towering  walls  and  snowcapped  peaks  of  the  Big  Horn  moun- 
tains. As  they  loomed  up  against  the  western  horizon, 
clothed  in  green  and  white,  and  enveloped  in  blue  and 
smoky  haze,  they  presented  a scene  so  grand,  so  beautiful, 
so  enchanting,  that  we  felt  as  though  we  could  stay  there  and 
gaze  upon  them  forever.  We  dismounted,  took  out  the  field- 
glass  and  surveyed  with  wrapt  interest  and  admiration  the 
beautiful  scene. 

First  there  were  the  foothills,  bold,  rugged  and  pictur- 
esque, through  which  tumbled  many  a clear  mountain  torrent, 
and  next  were  the  great  mountains,  whose  sides  were  covered 
with  alternate  areas  of  evergreen  timber  and  vast  meadows. 
The  golden -hued  grass,  which  grew  in  these  parks,  waving  in 
the  bright  sun,  looked  like  fields  of  ripe  grain;  and  great 
ledges  of  red  sandstone  or  white  limestone  that  cropped  out 
here  and  there,  seemed  to  be  the  well-appointed  farmhouses 
and  barns  that  one  would  naturally  look  for  in  this  picture  of 
agricultural  luxuriance.  Farther  up  were  the  tall  peaks, 
towering  far  toward  the  heavens,  piercing  the  clouds  in  their 
upward  strides,  and  already  draped  in  spotless  white.  It 
produces  a strange  sensation  in  the  mind  to  stand  here  under 
this  burning  sun,  with  vegetation  green  and  flowers  blooming 
all  around  us,  birds  singing  in  every  bush,  and  look  upon 
these  vast  fields  of  snow  only  fifty  miles  away.  “ In  the 
midst  of  summer  prepare  for  Avinter  ” must  be  the  motto  of 
any  one  Avho  starts  on  a tramp  to  the  mountains,  and  we  are 
glad  when  we  remember  that  we  have  a full  supply  of  heavy 
clothing  and  blankets  Avith  us. 

Between  ourselves  and  the  mountains  lies  the  broad,  level 
valley  of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  the  silvery  sheen  of  Avhose 
crystal  fluid,  glimmered  and  glistened  in  the  clear  sunlight  as 
the  river  Avound  in  and  out  among  the  groves  of  green  trees 
that  skirted  its  banks. 


68 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


But  the  objects  forming  this  lovely  picture  are  yet  far 
away,  and  many  a weary  mile  must  be  ridden,  many  a tortu- 
ous coulee  or  gulch  must  be  threaded,  and  many  a steep  hill 
climbed  ere  we  shall  set  foot  on  the  happy  hunting  ground 
that  now  unfolds  itself  so  invitingly  before  us.  So  Jack 'and 
Huffman  take  a pull  at  the  ropes  to  tighten  up  the  loads  on 
our  pack  mules  and  we  spring  into  our  saddles  and  ride  away 
at  a brisk  trot,  down  the  long  slope  on  the  western  side  of 
the  divide. 

There  are  some  fine  agricultural  lands  on  this  slope.  The 
soil  is  light  but  rich,  the  ground  just  rolling  enough  to  carry 
off  the  water  readily,  and  in  nearly  every  one  of  the  many 
coulees  with  which  it  is  drained  there  runs  a stream  of  clear, 
cold,  pure  spring  water.  By  means  of  these  the  tablelands 
could  easily  be  irrigated,  if  necessary,  and  there  is  a good 
supply  of  timber  along  the  small  streams  for  fuel.  Bunch  or 
buffalo  grass  stands  thick  and  heavy  here,  affording  the  best 
of  grazing.  We  crossed  Owl  creek  near  its  head.  Its  waters 
are  very  clear  and  cold  and  it  doubtless  bears  trout,  though 
we  didn’t  stop  to  investigate  the  matter. 

As  we  were  riding  down  a hill  toward  one  of  the  coulees, 
three  mule  deer  jumped  out  of  the  brush,  dashed  over  the 
next  ridge  and  were  out  of  sight  before  we  could  get  a shot 
at  them.  We  put  spurs  to  our  animals  and  galloped  to  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  but  they  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  We 
. knew,  though,  that  they  must  have  hidden  in  the  next 
coulee,  as  they  had  not  had  time  to  go  farther  without  our 
seeing  them  when  we  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge,  so  we 
^separated,  Jack  riding  to  the  head  of  the  coulee,  Huffman 
toward  the  mouth,  and  each  dismounted  to  wait  for  the  game 
to  come  out.  I rode  down  to  the  coulee  and  followed  it  up 
to  where  Jack  was  without  jumping  any  game  ; then  we  both 
rode  down  on  opposite  sides  and  when  within  a short  dis- 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


69 


tance  of  where  Huffman  stood  the  game  broke  cover  and 
started  over  the  next  ridge,  but  at  the  crack  of  Huffman’s 
rifle  the  leader,  a magnificent  buck,  staggered,  stumbled, 
swayed  to  and  fro,  and  after  a dozen  or  more  jumps,  fell  with 
a bullet  through  his  shoulder.  Ping  ! went  Jack’s  carbine, 
and  the  doe  turned  completely  over  with  a broken  neck. 
My  old  pill-driver  woke  the  echoes  among  the  far-away  foot- 
hills, and  as  the  smoke  cleared  away  I saw  the  dust  and 
stones  waltzing  around  in  the  air  just  beyond  where  the  deer 
had  been,  but  he  was  going  toward  the  top  of  the  ridge  with 
something  like  the  speed  of  the  late  comet.  In  my  haste  I 
had  shot  over  or  under  him,  I couldn’t  tell  which,  but  the 
next  shot  proved  more  lucky,  for  just  as  he  reached  the  top  of 
the  ridge  an  explosive  bullet  caught  him  high  up  in  the 
shoulder,  splintering  both  shoulder  blades  and  breaking  his 
spine.  He  was  a good-sized  spike  buck.  We  formed  a 
mutual  admiration  society  at  once  and  proceeded  to  con- 
gratulate each  other  on  our  good  shooting.  It  certainly  was 
“ deuced  clevah,”  for  here  lay  three  deer  within  fifty  yards 
of  each  other,  killed  with  four  shots,  and  all  on  the  jump. 

We  reached  the  Little  Big  Horn  at  four  o’clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  went  into  camp  near  the  mouth  of  Pass  creek. 
There  had  been  a large  band  of  Indians  encamped  at  this 
point  only  a few  days  before,  and.  we  were  afraid  they  had 
driven  the  game  all  out  of  tb<=“  valley,  but  were  agreeably  dis- 
appointed, as  the  sequel  will  show.  Early  the  next  morning, 
September  4th,  we  moved  up  the  Little  Big  Horn,  and  during 
the  day  jumped  at  least  twenty  deer,  but  did  not  shoot  at 
them  as  we  had  all  the  venison  we  wanted.  We  also  jumped 
three  coyotes  during  the  day,  and  never  let  an  opportunity 
slip  to  fan  them.  We  killed  the  third  one  at  two  hundred 
yards  or  over.  We  were  all  shooting  at  him,  but  from  the 
appearance  of  the  hole  in  his  ribs  when  we  held  the  post  mortem 


’TO 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


examination,  we  decided  it  was  made  with  Huffman’s  .44 
caliber  Kennedy.  The  pestiferous  Crows  had  burned  the 
valley  all  over,  and  we  had  trouble  in  finding  a spot  that  had 
escaped  the  fire,  where  our  poor  animals  could  graze  during 
the  night. 

We  at  last  found  a small  patch  of  grass,  however,  that  had 
escaped  the  fire  by  being  surrounded  with  thickets  of  green 
hazel-brush,  through  which  the  fire  would  not  run,  and  here 
we  made  camp.  Just  before  reaching  this  place  we  saw  the 
first  bear  sign  of  the  trip.  This  caused  our  temperature  to 
rise  several  degrees,  for  bear  was  the  very  game  we  most  de- 
sired to  find.  We  “hadn’t  lost  no  bar,”  but  still  we  were  all 
loaded  for  bear,  and  were  anxious  to  find  some.  We  corraled 
a covey  of  prairie-chickens  just  before  going  into  camp,  and 
got  seven  of  them.  We  made  our  camp  on  the  top  of  a 
ridge,  near  a small  stream  that  empties  into  the  river.  The 
weather  was  clear  and  beautiful,  so  we  thought  it  unnecessary 
to  put  up  a tent. 

While  the  other  boys  were  getting  dinner  I took  a stroll 
up  the  little  creek  on  which  we  were  camped,  and  saw  plenty 
of  bear  sign.  They  had  bent  or  broken  down  nearly  all  the 
choke-cherry  and  plum  trees,  and  their  tracks  were  numerous 
at  every  place  where  the  ground  was  soft  enough  to  show 
them.  Plums  and  choke-cherries  are  abundant  all  along  the 
river,  and  the  bears  are  coming  down  from  the  mountains 
now  to  harvest  them.  We  feasted  on  the  plums  all  along  the 
trip.  When  I got  back  to  camp  Huffman  was  singing; 

“ Shall  we  gather  at  the  river, 

Yes,  we  shall  gather  at  the  river.” 

“What  shall  we  gather  at  the  river?  ” I asked. 

“ Plums,”  said  he.- 

“That  will  just  cost  you  fellows  thirty  days  in  the  guard- 


/ 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS.  *71 

house  when  we  get  back  to  the  post,  and  don’t  you  forget 
it,”  said  Jack. 

After  dinner  we  started  out  in  different  directions  to  look 
for  game.  I went  up  the  river  about  a mile,  and  then  turned 
into  the  thickets.  Bear  signs  were  plentiful  at  every  turn, 
and  many  of  them  fresh.  I felt  sure  I should  find  old  big 
Moccasin  Joe,  as  they  call  him  out  here,  before  night.  I 
hunted  along  down  the  river  till  just  at  sunset,  when  I saw  a 
large  cinnamon-bear  on  the  side  of  a steep  bluff  upon  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river,  turning  over  rocks  and  rustling  for 
his  chuck.  He  was  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  away, 
and  there  was  a large  swamp  between  us,  so  that  I could  get 
no  closer  without  going  a long  way  around  the  swamp.  I 
was  afraid  to  undertake  that  for  I should  have  to  lose  sight  of 
him  awhile,  and  fearing  he  might  stray  off  during  that  time, 
I decided  to  shoot  from  where  I was.  I elevated  to  what  I 
judged  the  distance  to  be,  knelt  down  and  fired.  I didn’t 
see  the  first  ball  strike,  and  so  concluded  it  must  have  passed 
over  him  and  gone  into  some  brush  beyond.  He  paid  no 
attention  to  it.  I held  a little  lower  and  fired  again.  This 
time  I saw  the  ball  strike  just  under  him  and  explode.  I 
think  a piece  of  the  bullet  must  have  struck  him,  or  else  the 
explosion  knocked  a small  stone  against  him,  for  lie  jumped 
and  disappeared  in  the  brush  close  by.  I supposed,  of 
course,  he  was  gone,  and  took  out  my  field-cleaner  to  wipe 
my  rifle,  but  before  I got  through  with  it  he  returned  to  the 
same  place,  and  went  to  work  again.  I now  had  my  ele- 
vation exactly,  and  I knew  that  I could  hit  him  this  time,  so 
I took  a careful  aim,  just  behind  the  shoulder  (he  stood 
broadside  to  me),  held  about  eight  inches  higher  on  him 
than  at  the  last  shot,  and  when  old  pill-driver  spoke  to  him 
this  time  he  reared  up,  turned  half  around,  plunged  forward, 
then  fell  backward,  and  rolled  with  a crashing,  thrashing 


72 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


noise  that  I could  hear  distinctly  where  I stood,  down  the 
hillside,  and  disappeared  in  the  thick  brush.  I slipped 
another  cartridge  into  my  rifle  and  started  after  him.  I first 
went  to  the  right  of  the  slough,  but  encountered  a jungle 
that  was  well  nigh  impassable,  and  returning,  circled  around 
it  to  the  left.  This  was  a long,  tedious,  and  difficult  route, 
but  by  hard  work  I at  last  got  through  one  of  the  thickets, 
waded  the  river,  and  then  after  another  siege  of  crawling, 
climbing  and  cutting  my  way,  during  which  every  minute 
seemed  an  hour  lest  my  game  should  escape,  I at  last  reached 
the  place  where  old  Joe  stood  when  the  battle  opened.  His 
pathway  through  the  brush,  where  he  rolled  down  the  hill, 
was  strewn  with  blood.  I followed  it,  hoping  to  find  him 
dead  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  but  unfortunately  there  was  a 
wide  fissure  in  the  rock  near  the  foot,  about  thirty  feet  deep, 
into  which  he  had  fallen.  I could  plainly  see  the  lifeless 
form  of  the  great  monster  lying  there  among  the  rocks  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cavern,  but  the  walls  were  perpendicular,  with 
scarcely  any  projections,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  reach 
him,  and  I was  compelled  to  return  to  camp  empty  handed. 

We  compared  notes  around  a bright  camp  fire  for  an 
hour,  and  then  turned  in.  About  midnight  it  clouded  up, 
and  a quiet,  but  steady,  heavy  fall  of  rain  set  in.  Huffman 
and  I awoke  and  surveyed  the  situation,  but  we  had  a large, 
heavy  piece  of  canvas  spread  over  us,  and  after  discussing  the 
probabilities  for  a few  minutes,  concluded  we  were  safe,  and 
went  to  sleep  again.  Later  in  the  night  we  were  again 
awakened  by  the  water  running  under  us,  and  our  blankets 
were  saturated,  but  it  was  too  dark  and  damp  to  get  up  then, 
so  we  laid  like  a warrior  taking  his  rest,  and  weathered  the 
storm  till  daylight,  when  we  all  got  up,  wrung  the  water  out 
of  our  blankets,  or  as  much  of  it  as  possible,  and  packed  up. 
The  heavens  continued  to  weep,  and  we  had  wet  groceries 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


73 


for  breakfast,  mostly.  The  alkali  mud  stuck  to  our  feet,  as 
we  tramped  around,  like  warm  wax,  and  large  quantities  of 
grass,  mixing  in  with  it,  our  feet  looked  more  like  bales  of 
hay,  than  like  the  pedal  extremities  of  human  beings.  Our 
poor  mules  shivered  in  the  cold  rain,  and  were  anxious  to 
get  started. 

We  moved  out  at  eight  o’clock,  and  at  three  in  the  after- 
noon camped  among  the  foothills,  within  a mile  of  the 
mouth  of  the  canyon  of  the  Little  Big  Horn  river,  where  it 
comes  out  of  the  mountains. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  HAPPY  HUNTING  GROUND. 

HUFFMAN  KILLS  A GRIZZLY  — A NIGHT  IN  WET  BLANKETS — A RACE 
FOR  THE  AXE — GRAND  SPORT  — HUNTING  THROUGH  THE  SNOW  — 
EFFECTIVENESS  OF  THE  EXPLOSIVE  BULLET. 

It  was  with  feelings  of  the  greatest  delight  that  we  built 
our  camp-fire  near  the  head  of  the  Little  Big  Horn  river,  for  we 
were  well  aware  that  we  had  now  reached  the  happy  hunting 
ground  for  which  we  had  been  toiling  through  hot  sands,  over 
barren  plains  and  fruitless  bad  lands  for  these  many  days. 
From  this  time  forward,  for  at  least  ten  days  to  come,  we 
were  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the  haunts  of  large  game,  and  if 
we  did  not  succeed  in  taking  a reasonable  quantity  of  it  we 
could  'only  blame  our  lack  of  skill  in  hunting  it. 

After  we  had  made  camp,  Huffman  and  Jack  got  out  some 
fishing  tackle,  and  took  a few  magnificent  mountain  trout 
from  the  stream  within  a few  rods  of  our  camp,  and  we  dined 
off  them  with  a relish  begotten  by  the  day’s  labor  and  the 
fresh  mountain  breeze  that  swept  down  the  valley.  After 
dinner  Huffman  and  I took  our  rifles  and  sallied  forth  in 
search  of  game  — Huffman  going  up  the  stream  and  I down. 

I returned  to  camp  shortly  after  dark,  empty  handed,  but 
was  glad  to  learn  that  Huffman,  who  preceded  me,  had  been 
more  fortunate,  having  killed  a large  grizzly  bear  before  he 
had  gone  a mile  from  camp.  He  had  jumped  the  old  planti- 
grade on  the  bank  of  the  river.  The  bear  showed  fight  at  the 
first  shot,  but  some  lively  music  from  the  Kennedy  rifle  soon 
quieted  his  belligerent  propensities,  and  laid  him  a corpse  at 
the  feet  of  his  foe. 


74 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


75 


It  has  rained  nearly  all  day  to-day  and  continues  to  rain 
to-night,  so  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  drying  our  blankets, 
as  we  had  intended  to  do,  and  we  have  no  alternative — there 
is  no  escape  from  it  — we  must  sleep  in  wet  blankets  to-night. 
It  is  a gloomy  prospect,  and  no  mistake.  The  cold  chills  run 
up  and  down  our  backs  as  we  think  of  it,  and  whenever  any 
one  mentions  it,  a groan  escapes  from  the  other  two.  The 
mercury  has  crawled  down  (or  would  crawl  down  if  there  were 
any  mercury  in  this  region)  to  the  freezing  point,  and  a 
violent  snow-storm  has  set  in.  The  wind  sucks  down  through 
the  canyon  just  back  of  our  camp,  and  moans  through  the 
cottonwoods,  driving  the  snow  in  blinding  clouds  through 
the  brush,  over  the  - hills,  and  heaping  it  on  our  fire  in  such 
quantities  that  it  soon  drowned  it  out. 

“ Well,  what  shall  we  do  now?  ” 

“Go  to  bed,  I suppose,”  said  Huffman,  drawing  a deep 
sigh,  and  proceeding,  with  the  aid  of  a forked  limb,  to  extract 
his  boots,  which  were  as  wet  as  the  snow  and  water  in  which 
he  had  been  wading,  could  make  them.  I struck  a match  and 
looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  nine  o’clock. 

“ Well,  Huffman,”  I said,  “ we  shall  only  have  nine  hours 
to  wait  until  daylight,  and  then  we  can  get  up  and  make  a 
fire  again.” 

“ Nine  hours  in  those  wet  blankets,  this  cold,  stormy 
night ! ” said  he,  with  another  sigh.  “ I wish  the  man  who 
invented  hunting  was  in  Greenland,  and  had  to  sleep  on  an 
iceberg  to-night.” 

“And  I wish  we  were  all  in  Florida,”  said  Jack. 

We  had  made  our  camp  where  a band  of  Crow  Indians 
had  camped  a few  days  before.  They  had  left  some  of  their 
wiciup  poles  in  position,  and  we  had  spread  our  canvas 
over  them,  thus  making  a very  close,  comfortable  shelter,  if 
not  as  roomy  as  we  might  wish  for.  Huffman  and  I crawled 


70 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


into  our  vviciup,  and  Jack  into  his.  Our  clothing  was  all 
soaked  with  water  from  being  in  the  rain  the  most  of  the  day, 
and  tramping  through  wet  brush  and  grass  on  our  evening 
hunt.  We  kept  it  all  on,  removing  only  our  boots  and  hats. 
Our  blankets  were  so  wet  and  heavy  that  they  stuck  to  us  like 
a bathing-suit.  Our  bones  ached  and  our  teeth  chattered, 
and,  if  we  hadn’t  been  so  cold  we  couldn’t  talk,  we  might 
have  made  some  remarks  about  the  weather  that  wouldn’t 
look  well  in  print. 

We  finally  got  reconciled  to  our  fate,  however,  and  went 
to  sleep,  if  being  stupefied  from  the  effects  of  hard  work  and 
cold  water  can  be  called  sleep.  Along  in  the  night  some- 
time— I should  think  about  one  or  two  o’clock — Huffman 
woke  up,  shivering  and  groaning  some  more.  He  seemed  to 
have  a relapse  of  cold.  He  said  he  couldn’t  stand  this  sort 
of  luxury  any  longer,  and  was  going  to  get  up  and  start  a 
fire.  I told  him  he  couldn’t  start  a fire,  that  the  wood  was 
all  covered  with  snow  and  ice;  but  he  said  he’d  try  it,  any- 
way, so  he  got  up  and  did  try  it,  but  it  was  no  go.  The  cold 
air  outside  was  worse  than  the  wet  clothing  and  blankets 
within,  and  he  was  soon  glad  to  plunge  into  the  shack  and 
bury  himself  in  them  again. 

“ C-c-c-con-d-d-d-dem  such  a c-c-c-condemned  c-c-c- 
country  as  th-th-this,  anyway!”  said  he,  his  teeth  chattering 
like  the  “music”  of  a snare  drum.  “If  any  man  ever 
c-c-catches  me  starting  to  these  d-d  m-m-m-mountains 
again,  I hope  he’ll  p-p-put  me  in  the  g-g-guard-house  for  six 
months,” 

I really  felt  alarmed  for  him,  for  I feared  he  might  have 
a conjestive  chill,  or  something  as  serious,  but  he  finally  be- 
came more  comfortable,  and  dozed  off  to  sleep  again.  We 
hailed  the  first  dawn  of  day  with  a sigh  of  relief,  and  as  soon 
as  it  was  light  enough  to  see  to  get  about,  we  were  all  oyt 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


77 


pulling  on  our  frozen  boots.  Usually,  every  man  in  camp 
shuns  the  axe,  but  this  morning  there  was  a race  to  see  who 
could  get  hold  of  it  first,  for  we  all  felt  that  it  would  thaw  us 
out  quicker  than  anything  else ; we  took  turns  at  chopping, 
carrying  wood  and  running  until  we  got  a fire  started,  and 
then  piled  on  dry  cottonwood  logs  and  limbs  until  we  soon 
had  a roaring  fire,  and  were  standing  around  it  drying  and 
warming  ourselves. 

We  made  a pot  of  coffee  .so  strong  that  it  swelled  our  ears  ; 
baked  some  bread,  broiled  some  choice  venison  steaks,  and 
were  soon  discussing  a most  wholesome  breakfast.  As  we  be- 
came comfortable,  and  even  jovial,  we  enjoyed  the  scene 
around  us.  The  snow-storm  was  premature.  The  leaves  had 
not  yet  fallen  from  the  trees.  The  wind  had  ceased  early  in 
the  night,  and  the  snow  had  piled  up  light  and  feather-like 
upon  the  leaves  until  the  boughs  were  bent  down  by  its 
weight.  The  mountain  sides  are  covered  with  a thick  growth 
of  pine  timber,  the  tops  of  the  ridges  being  bare.  All  these 
trees  were  heavily  clad  in  their  mantle  of  spotless  white,  and 
the  contrasts  between  green,  gray,  brown,  golden  and  other 
colors,  furnished  by  the  autumn  foliage,  and  the  snow,  made 
a grand  picture. 

While  we  were  preparing  breakfast,  a fawn,  attracted  by 
the  noise,  came  to  the  top  of  the  long  ridge,  on  the  right  of 
our  camp,  and  gazed  curiously  down  upon  us  for  several 
seconds.  Outlined  against  the  gray  sky  he  made  a beautiful 
picture.  I was  chopping  wood  some  distance  from  camp 
when  he  first  appeared,  and  called  to  Huffman  and  Jack,  who 
were  near  the  fire.  They  sprang  for  their  guns  as  soon  as 
they  saw  him,  but  by  this  time  his  curiosity  was  satisfied,  and 
he  bounded  away  and  disappeared  behind  the  hill  before 
they  could  get  a shot. 

Breakfast  over,  Huffman  and  I hurried  into  the  timber  in 


78 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


opposite  directions  to  utilize  the  heavy  snow  in  tracking  game. 
We  had  not  gone  half  a mile  before  I heard  three  shots  from 
his  rifle  in  quick  succession,  followed  by  a shout  of  exulta- 
tion, which  I knew  meant  that  he  had  drawn  a prize.  I hur- 
ried in  the  direction  whence  the  sounds  came,  and  soon  found 


HUFFMAN’S  PRIZE. 

him  leaning  complacently  on  his  rifle,  gazing  admiringly  on 
the  prostrate  form  of  a monster  bull  elk  that  had  fallen  a prey 
to  his  deadly  aim. 

After  hastily  examining  his  trophy,  and,  congratulating 
him  upon  his  skill  and  good  luck,  I turned  away  down  the 
stream,  leaving  him  and  Jack,  who  had  also  been  attracted  to 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


79 


the  spot  by  the  noise,  to  take  the  game  into  camp.  I found 
deer  signs  very  plentiful  in  the  fresh  snow,  but  didn’t  follow 
any  particular  trail,  as  I felt  confident  of  finding  game  as 
soon  by  keeping  straight  ahead  as  by  trailing. 

I had  walked  perhaps  two  miles,  when,  as  I was  passing 
over  a low  ridge,  three  deer  jumped  from  their  beds  in  some 
hazel  brush  at  my  right  and  started  across  an  open  swale 
toward  the  heavy  timber,  which  was  about  two  hundred  yards 
away.  The  deer  were  about  a hundred  yards  from  me  when 
I first  saw  them.  I paid  my  compliments  to  an  old  buck 
first,  then  to  a yearling  buck,  and  as  these  two  went  to  grass 
in  short  order,  the  third,  a handsome  doe,  stopped  broadside 
to  me  to  wait  for  her  companions.  I dropped  on  my  knee  to 
make  sure  of  her,  but  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  forgot 
to  make  any  allowance  for  the  fact  that  she  was  seventy  or 
eighty  yards  farther  away  than  the  others  when  I shot  at 
them,  and,  firing  without  any  elevation,  had  the  gloomy  satis- 
faction of  seeing  the  snow  fly  just  beyond  her  in  a position 
that  told  me  at  once  my  ball  had  dropped  below  her.  In  a 
second  more  she  was  out  of  sight  in  the  thick  brush. 

I then  went  to  where  the  old  buck  was  when  I first  fired 
and  saw  hair  scattered  over  the  snow  in  every  direction,  some 
of  it  ten  feet  away.  I glanced  eagerly  along  his  trail,  and 
where  he  lit  on  the  first  jump  after  the  ball  struck  him  I saw 
blood.  At  the  second  jump  a perfect  shower  of  blood  had 
been  blown  from  his  nostrils,  crimsoning  the  snow  on  both 
sides  of  his  trail,  while  a stream  had  also  spurted  from  the 
wound. 

“That  settles  it,”  thought  I.  “Through  the  lungs  and 
he  can’t  go  far.” 

I moved  eagerly  forward,  but  before  I had  gone  a dozen 
steps  I fairly  stumbled  over  his  lifeless  body,  where  it  lay  all 
doubled  up  in  a clump  of  thick  bushes.  I then  retraced 

/ 


80 


IN  THE  BIG  HORfc  MOUNTAINS. 


and  counted  his  tracks.  He  had  made  just  four  jumps  from 
where  the  ball  struck  him,  and  had  fallen  stone  dead,  for  the 
snow  where  he  lay  showed  that  he  had  not  moved  a foot  after 
he  fell. 

So  much  for  the  effectiveness  of  the  explosive  bullet.  I 
examined  the  wound  and  found  that  the  ball  had  entered  his 
flank  just  behind  the  last  rib  (he  was  running  quartering  from 
me)  had  exploded  on  entering  the  body,  blown  a large  hole 
through  the  skin  a few  inches  ahead  of  where  it  entered,  and 
passing  on  diagonally  through  his  chest,  had  lodged  near  the 
point  of  the  opposite  shoulder.  With  this  same  shot  from  a 
solid  bullet,  he  would  have  run  anywhere  from  three  hundred 
yards  to  a mile,  but  with  this  explosive  missile  his  intestines, 
lungs,  liver,  and  other  internal  improvements  were  so  muti- 
lated, that  if  he  had  been  a buffalo  or  a grizzly  he  could  not 
have  survived  the  shock  much  longer  than  he  did.  And  this 
was  done  with  a .40  caliber  rifle,  which  brother  Van  Dyke 
protests  is  no  account  for  anything  larger  than  a jack  rabbit 
or  a woodchuck. 

I next  took  up  the  trail  of  the  young  buck,  and  when  I 
reached  the  place  where  he  was  when  I shot,  was  rewarded  by 
finding  plenty  of  hair  and  two  or  three  small  pieces  of  flesh 
on  the  snow.  Ten  feet  further  on,  the  crimson  fluid  had 
gushed  from  the  wound  in  a stream  that  showed  unmistakably 
that  that  animal’s  career  was  soon  to  be  drawn  to  a close  also. 
But  I had  not  given  him  so  dead  a shot  as  the  other  one,  and 
he  led  me  a most  tedious  chase  through  the  thick  underbrush 
before  I succeeded  in  overtaking  him.  When  I did  reach 
him,  I found  that  I had  also  hit  him  in  the  flank  low  down, 
and,  as  he  was  running  broadside  to  me,  the  ball  passed 
through  him  at  right  angles,  coming  out  on  the  opposite  side. 
It  had  exploded  when  it  struck,  however,  and  torn  a hole 
through  him  that  you  could  easily  have  passed  an  ordinary 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS 


81 


teacup  through.  So  large  was  the  opening,  in  fact,  that  a 
fold  of  one  of  the  .larger  entrails  dropped  through  on  the  side 
where  the  ball  passed  out,  and  dragged  in  the  snow  until  the 
deer  fell,  when  I came  up  and  dispatched  him.  And  yet 
nothing  short  of  a .65  caliber  cannon,  with  an  expansive 
bullet,  is  fit  to  shoot  deer  with  ! Oh,  no,  of  course  not ! 

I went  to  camp,  when  Jack  put  an  apparejo  on  one  of  the 
mules,  and  we  returned  and  brought  both  of  the  deer  in. 
Later  in  the  day  we  dragged  the  elk  and  bear  both  in  by 
means  of  a rope  made  fast  to  the  pommel  of  a saddle,  and 
when  arrayed  before  our  wiciups  they  presented  an  array 
that  caused  our  hearts  to  swell  with  pride. 

We  then  skinned  the  game,  took  the  choicest  cuts  of  the 
meat,  and  after  partaking  of  a hearty  dinner,  broke  camp 
and  began  the  ascent  of  the  mountain. 

The  clouds  had  now  entirely  disappeared,  and  the  sun 
shone  forth  from  a clear  sky,  giving  a most  brilliant  effect  to 
the  scene  before  us,  but  the  bright  glare  soon  became  painful 
to  our  eyes. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THROUGH  THE  CANYON  OF  THE  LITTLE  BIG  HORN. 

AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  NIG  — THE  PHOTOGRAPHIC  OUTFIT  IN  PERIL  — 
HUFFMAN  FRANTIC  — NIG  LANDS  THE  CARGO  SAFELY  — HUFFMAN 
GRUMBLES,  I PHILOSOPHIZE  — A HERD  OF  MULE  DEER  — GROWTHS 
OF  PINE  TIMBER  — FINE  SPORT  WITH  A MOUNTAIN  BUFFALO  — THE 
IDEAL  HUNTER’S  CAMP. 

In  our  windings  through  the  canyon  of  the  Little  Big 
Horn,  we  were  obliged  to  cross  the  stream  several  times 
during  the  afternoon.  It  is  a veritable  torrent  here,  boiling 
and  foaming  over  its  rough  bed  of  boulders  and  broken 
ledges  of  red  sandstones.  Its  pure  liquid  is  as  clear  as  crystal 
and  as  cold  as  ice.  You  would  never  recognize  it  as  the 
same  dull,  leaden-hued  stream  along  whose  banks  we  have 
been  wending  our  weary  way  for  several  days  past. 

And  this  recalls  to  my  mind  an  incident  of  the  trip  that 
must  not  be  overlooked. __  Soon  after  leaving  the  forks  of  the 
stream,  we  reached  a point  where  it  became  necessary  to  cross 
it  in  order  to  avoid  a long  detour  around  a bend.  We  there- 
fore selected  the  most  favorable  point  we  could  find — a place 
where  the  banks  were  low  and  the  water  not  more  than  two 
feet  deep — and  started  in  with  Huffman  in  the  lead.  I 
followed  him  with  Blinkie,  my  white  pony,  and  the  pack 
mules  followed  me,  Jack  remaining  for  the  time  in  the  rear 
to  drive  them  across.  Chicken,  one  of  the  pack  mules, 
crossed  and  climbed  the  bank  all  right,  when  Nig,  a large 
black  mule,  who  was  always  disposed  to  be  willful  and  con- 
trary, and  who  was  never  willing  to  follow  his  file  leader 

when  he  saw  an  opportunity  of  making  an  annoying 

82 


83 


THE  RAGE  OF  HUFFMAN  AND  THE  CALMNESS  OF  NIG 


84 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


“break,”  walked  down  the  first  bank  into  the  water,  then 
turned  and  waded  slowly  and  deliberately  down  the  stream 
toward  a deep  hole  that  lay  a few  yards  below  the  crossing. 
His  load  consisted  principally  of  Huffman’s  photographic 
outfit,  camera,  dry  plates,  dark  tent,  etc.  ; and  when  Huffman 
saw  that  they  were  placed  in  jeopardy — that  the  dry  plates 
were  in  imminent  danger  of  being  transformed  into  wet 
plates  by  a process  that  would  render  them  utterly  worthless 
to  him — that  the  camera  was  liable  to  be  soaked  with  water 
and  ruined — he  became  frantic. 

He  dismounted  and  rushed  madly  down  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  yelling,  throwing  clubs,  trying  in  every  possible  way 
to  head  Nig  off;  but  the  ugly  brute  would  not  head  worth  a 
cent.  He  looked  mildly  at  the  woe-begone  artist  out  of  his 
left  eye,  stopped  and  drank  a few  swallows  of  water,  took  a 
step  or  two,  and  looked  again,  first  at  Huffman  and  then  at 
Jack,  who  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  shouting, 
and  throwing  clubs,  rocks  and  other  debris  at  the  long-eared 
vandal. 

“Jack!”  shouted  the  artist,  “drive  that  cantankerous 
brute  out  of  that  deep  water,  quick,  or  he’ll. drown  my  photo- 
graph gallery  ! Jump  in  and  catch  him — quick  ! Blank  blank 
that  blanked  long-eared  son-of-a-gun  to  blankety  blank!  ” 

“ Jump  in  yourself,”  said  Jack,  “ I don’t  want  to  get  my 
feet  wet.” 

And  still  the  mule  moved  slowly  down  the  stream,  every 
step  taking  him  into  deeper  water,  bringing  his  precious  load, 
valued  at  three  hundred  dollars,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
destroying  element,  while  an  artist  to  the  mountains  bound 
cries,  “ Conley,  do  not  tarry  and  I’ll  give  thee  a silver  dollar 
to  drive  that  doggoned  mule  o’er  the  ferry.” 

“Now,  who  be  ye  would  cross  Big  Horn,  this  deep  and 
muddy  water?  ” 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


85 


“Oh,  I’m  the  artist  from  Miles  City,  and  this  my 
precious  plunder.  And  fast  upon  these  saddle  mules  three 
days  we’ve  rode  together,  and  should  he  wet  them  in  the 
creek  they  wouldn’t  be  worth  a feather.” 

Outspoke  the  hardy  Emerald  wight,  “I’ll  go,  my  chief, 
I’m  ready.  It  is  not  for  your  dollar  bright,  but  for  some 
pretty  pictures;  and  by  my  word,  that  cussed  mule  in  the 
water  shall  not  tarry, — so  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I’ll  drive  him  over  the  ferry  or  break  his  blanked  neck! 
G’lang,  Nig,  git  out  of  there,  you  son-of-a-gun ! ” But  still, 
as  wilder  blew  the  wind,  and  as~  the  artist  grew  madder, 
adown  the  stream  walked  that  pesky  mule  where  the  water 
still  was  deeper. 

“Oh,  haste  thee,  haste!”  the  artist  cries.  “Though 
tempests  round  us  gather,  I’ll  meet  the  raging  of  the 
water,  but  if  I lose  that  outfit  I’ll  walk  home  to-night.” 

The  mule  has  left  a sultry  land,  a cool  bath  is  before  him, 
when  oh ! too  strong  for  human  hands,  he  don’t  care  how 
many  clubs  come  o’er  him.  And  still  they  howled  amidst 
the  roar  of  waters  fast  prevailing,  the  artist  reached  that  fatal 
shore,  his  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing.  For  sore  dismayed 
through  storm  and-shade  his  mule  he  did  discover,  one  lovely 
hand  he  stretched  for  the  bridle  but,  oh,  he  couldn’t  reach  it. 

“Come  back,  come  back,”  he  cried  in  grief  across  this 
muddy  river,  “and  I’ll  forgive  the  wayward  cuss,  my 
donkey,  oh,  my  donkey.”  ’Twas  vain;  the  loud  waves 
lashed  his  sides,  return  or  aid  suggesting,  the  waters  wild 
kind  o’  frightened  him,  and  he  turned  and  came  out  on  the 
bank  o.  k. 

We  took  his  load  off,  opened  it,  and  found  that  though 
the  lower  corners  of  both  boxes  were  wet,  the  moisture  had 
not  reached  their  contents.  We  congratulated  Huffman  on 
the  fact  that  his  dry  goods  were  still  dry — that  his  stock 


86 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


had  not  been  watered,  so  to  speax — and  went  on  our  way 
rejoicing. 

During  the  afternoon  of  September  6th  we  toiled  up  through 
canyons  and  over  divides  and  ridges,  still  climbing  higher 
and  higher,  until  the  atmosphere  became  so  rare  that  neither 
we  nor  our  animals  could  walk  more  than  a few  rods  at  a time 
without  stopping  to  rest.  We  walked  and  led  our  saddle 
animals  nearly  all  the  afternoon,  owing  to  this  fact  and  the 
extremely  difficult  nature  of  the  trails  over  which  we  were 
passing.  At  about  four  o’clock  we  reached  an  open  park  on 
the  top  of  one  of  the  highest  ridges  in  that  part  of  the  range, 
and  finding  there  a good,  heavy  growth  of  grass  which, 
fortunately,  had  not  been  burned,  we  decided  to  make  our 
camp  there.  There  was  no  water  near,  but  the  snow,  which 
covered  the  ground  to  a depth  of  six  inches,  furnished  a very 
good  substitute. 

We  found  an  abundance  of  dry  pine-knots  and  whole 
trunks  of  fallen  pine-trees  on  the  rocks  near  us,  and  in  a few 
minutes  had  a roaring  fire,  and  our  wet  blankets  hanging  all 
around  it.  We  didn’t  care  to  take  a cold  bath  in  them  that 
night,  and  so  watched  and  turned  them  attentively  all  the 
evening,  until  they  were  thoroughly  dry.  Our  animals  ate 
snow  to  quench  their  thirst,  and  then  pawed  the  snow  away  so 
that  they  could  get  at  the  grass.  They  had  all  seen  plenty  of 
this  kind  of  life  in  years  past,  and  so  lost  no  time  in  looking 
for  better  fare,  but  went  vigorously  to  work,  and  before  dark 
their  protruding  sides  showed  that  they  were  in  tall  clover. 

We  melted  snow  to  do  our  cooking  with,  and  for  water  to 
drink.  Our  position  gave  us  a fine  view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  We  could  trace  the  route  over  which  we  had 
traveled  for  several  days  past  through  the  warm,  green  valley 
of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  across  the  broad  divide  and  far  down 
the  now  beautiful  valley  of  the  Rosebud;  over  all  of  which 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


the  low,  descending  sun  threw  its  golden  light,  forming  a 
most  fascinating  picture,  and  one  in  strong  contrast  to  the 
bleak,  snow-covered  hills  around  us.  Away  to  the  north 
stretched  the  valley  of  the  Big  Horn,  and  with  the  aid  of  a 
powerful  glass  we  could  easily  see  the  tents  and  buildings  at 
Fort  Custer,  nearly  sixty  miles  away. 

To  the  south  our  vision  followed  the  eastern  base  of  the 
range,  across  the  headwaters  of  Tongue  and  Powder  rivers  to 
Fort  McKinney,  and  away  toward  the  Union  Pacific  railroad. 

“What,”  said  I,  “will  the  officers  at  Fort  Custer  think  if 
they  see  our  camp-fire  to-night?  They  will  think  it  a party  of 
Crow  Indians,  will  they  not?” 

“No,”  said  Huffman,  “ they  know  that  no  Crow  is  fool 
enough  to  be  caught  in  such  a country  as  this  over  night. 
They’ll  know  it’s  some  crazy  white  men,  and  don’t  you  for- 
get it.  Ah,  what  a fool  a man  will  make  of  himself  for  the 
sake  of  a little  fun.  The  idea  of  tramping  over  these  dry, 
hot  plains,  climbing  these  mountains,  wading  snow,  eating 
snow,  sleeping  in  snow,  and  half  freezing  to  death  for  the  sake 
of  killing  a few  deer  and  bears.  It’s  too  high  for  me.” 

“ Well,”  I said,  “the  game  is  worth  to  me  all  it  costs.  If 
we  could  stand  in  our  front  door  and  kill  these  animals  in  our 
yard,  we  would  think  it  no  sport  at  all,  but  the  harder  you 
have  to  work  for  your  game  the  more  you  appreciate  it  when 
you  get  it.  And  if  we  found  no  game,  the  novelty  of  our 
mode  of  travel,  the  grand  scenery,  the  health-giving  exercise, 
the  invigorating  atmosphere  would  well  repay  me  for  all  the 
labor  and  hardships  we  endure.” 

“ These  scenes  in  glowing  colors  dressed, 

Mirror  the  life  within  my  breast, 

Its  world  of  hopes; 

The  whispering  woods  and  fragrant  breeze, 

That  stir  the  grass  in  verdant  seas, 

On  billowy  slopes, 


88 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


“ And  glistening  crag  in  sunlit  sky, 

’Mid  snowy  clouds  piled  mountain  high, 

Are  joys  to  me; 

My  pathway  o’er  the  prairie  wide, 

Or  here  on  grander  mountain’s  side 
To  choose  all  free.” 

As  the  shades  of  the  evening  deepened,  we  gathered  large 
quantities  of  pine-boughs,  spread  them  upon  the  snow,  laid 
our  blankets  thereon,  turned  in  and  spread  the  heavy  can- 
vas over  us.  Although  the  temperature  went  far  below  the 
freezing  point  during  the  night,  we  slept  comfortably  and 
soundly.  The  next  day  we  continued  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain,  after  Huffman  had  made  some  fine  views  of  scenery 
in  the  canyons  near  our  camp.  During  the  forenoon  we  saw 
plenty  of  deer  sign  and  some  elk  sign.  We  killed  during 
the  morning  several  mountain  grouse  ( Tetrao  obscurus),  the 
first  we  had  seen  on  the  trip.  In  the  afternoon  as  we  were 
crossing  a series  of  beautiful  parks — that  is,  small  open 
prairies  in  the  pine  forest,  we  jumped  a herd  of  six  mule 
deer.  Jack  and  Huffman  were  riding  in  front  at  the  time, 
and  I in  the  rear,  so  that  they  got  all  the  shooting.  Huffman 
got  a doe  and  a large  fawn,  and  Jack  a fine  large  buck. 

We  took  their  entrails  out  and  loaded  them  on  the  pack 
mules.  We  bore  to  the  southward  to  some  coulees,  in  hopes 
of  finding  water,  but  were  disappointed,  and  had  to  make 
another  snow  camp  for  that  night.  After  dinner  I went  west 
about  a mile  and  saw  numerous  signs  of  buffaloes  and  elk, 
though  I did  not  succeed  in  getting  a shot,  but  felt  great 
hopes  that  we  should  in  the  morning. 

We  made  an  early  start  on  the  morning  of  the  8th,  mov- 
ing in  a northwesterly  direction,  and  at  about  a mile  from 
camp  passed  a boundary  post  showing  the  territorial  boundary 
line  between  Wyoming  and  Montana,  and  showing  us  that  we 
had  spent  the  night  in  Wyoming.  We  now,  however,  passed 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


S9 


back  into  Montana  again.  The  mountains  are  thickly  covered 
along  the  eastern  side  with  pine  timber,  mostly  small,  from 
three  to  twelve  inches  in  diameter,  and  six  to  fifty  feet  high. 
This  timber  would  be  useful  for  fence  posts,  railroad  ties, 
telegraph  poles,  etc.,  if  it  could  be  gotten  out,  but  will  prob- 
ably not  be  used  for  many  years  to  come  on  account  of  the 
great  labor  and  expense  that  would  have  to  be  incurred  in 
getting  it  out.  There  are  no  streams'  large  enough  to  raft  it 
on,  and  hauling  by  teams  down  through  the  moun- 
tains would  be  slow  and  tedious,  not  to  say  hazardous. 
To  build  a railroad  to  this  locality  would  cost  so  much 
that  it  will  be  a long  time  before  capitalists  will  be 
found  to  furnish  the  funds  for  such  an  undertaking.  In  some 
localities  the  timber  runs  larger  than  that  I have  described. 
We  have  seen  a few  trees  that  would  cut  several  hundred  feet 
of  clear  lumber  each,  but  they  are  not  numerous  at  this  high 
altitude.  The  numerous  small  parks  or  meadows,  which  are 
covered  with  a superior  quality  of  grass  and  surrounded  by 
this  thick  growth  of  timber,  make  this  a favorite  resort  for 
large  game  in  the  winter  season.  The  only  drawback  to  its 
being  a fine  grazing  country  for  cattle  is  the  heavy  snow-falls 
in  winter  at  this  altitude. 

Near  the  top  of  the  range  we  found  a fresh  track  of  a 
mountain  buffalo.  We  dismounted,  picketed  our  animals, 
and  followed  his  trail.  When  we  found  that  we  were  very 
near  him  and  saw  by  his  track  that  he  was  feeding,  we 
deployed,  Jack  going  to  the  left  of  the  trail,  I to  the  right, 
and  leaving  Huffman  to  follow  on  the  trail.  I made  a bee 
line  for  a high  crag  a quarter  of  a mile  ahead,  and  had  no 
sooner  reached  the  top  of  it  than  I saw  him  quietly  grazing 
and  browsing  on  some  weeds  among  the  rocks,  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  to  my  left.  I dropped  on  one  knee, 
drew  a bead  on  him  and  pulled.  I distinctly  heard  the  dull 


90 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS, 


“ whack  ” of  the  ball  as  it  struck  him,  and  saw  his  tail  switch 
quickly  over  his  back  as  if  he  were  “shooing”  a fly  away. 
He  turned  and  plunged  madly  over  the  rocks  in  the  opposite 
direction,  when  the  sharp  “ping”  of  Jack’s  carbine  from 


AFTER  THE  RACE. 

that  quarter,  and  the  “crack,”  “crack,”  of  Huffman’s  rifle 
from  below,  all  told  that  he  was  on  very  hot  ground.  He 
turned  and  made  a few  lunges  toward  me  again,  but  his 
leaden  load  was  already  too  heavy  for  him  to  carry,  and  he 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


91 


fell  and  expired  within  twenty  feet  of  where  he  stood  when  I 
gave  him  the  first  round.  He  was  a large,  finely-formed, 
noble-looking  animal.  His  fur  is  finer,  darker  and  curls 
more  than  that  of  the  plains  buffalo,  and  he  usually  ranges 
alone  or  in  pairs,  while  his  cousin  of  the  prairies  is  strictly 
gregarious 

From  the  top  of  the  peak  on  the  left  of  and  near  where 
our  noble  bison  fell  we  enjoyed  one  of  the  grandest  scenes  in 
the  Western  country.  Away  across  to  the  south  and  west  we 
see  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  Wind  River  mountains 
already  mentioned,  while  to  the  west  rise  the  great  domes, 
walls  and  peaks  of  the  Rocky  range.  Blue  and  smoky 
though  they  seem,  still  we  can  plainly  see  the  snow,  and 
through  the  glass  can  distinguish  the  timber  from  the  bare 
rocky  earth  above  the  timber  line.  We  can  locate  several  of 
the  peaks  in  and  surrounding  the  national  park,  a hundred 
and  thirty  miles  away.  To  the  north  and  west  loom  up  'the 
Snow  mountains,  and  still  further  north  the  Crazy  moun- 
tains — all  belonging  to  the  Rocky  system.  Intermediate 
between  us  and  them  flow,  besides  the  streams  already  men- 
tioned, the  different  branches  of  Pryor’s  river,  Clark’s  fork, 
Rocky  fork,  and  others,  all  of  which  empty  into  the 
Yellowstone,  whose  course  we  can  trace  far  up  toward  its 
source  and  away  down  toward  its  mouth. 

We  saw  signs  of  mountain  sheep  during  the  day,  but  none 
of  the  “critters  ” themselves.  We  moved  northward  along 
the  top  of  the  range,  and  in  the  afternoon  crossed  down  on 
to  the  western  slope,  where  we  found  a large  spring  and 
camped.  To  our  surprise  our  mules  and  pony  were  not 
thirsty  at  all,  notwithstanding  they  had  lived  two  days  and 
nights  without  water,  having  eaten  snow  only  as  a means  of 
quenching  thirst.  They  drank  but  little  here,  and  seemed  to 
care  very  little  whether  they  drank  any  or  not.  But  for 


92 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


ourselves  we  were  delighted  to  get  a drink  of  straight  spring 
water  again  after  our  long  dependence  on  its  best  substitute. 

We  made  an  ideal  “ hunter’s  camp”  that  night.  Built  a 
large  fire  of  pine  knots  in  the  midst  of  a dense  pine  thicket, 
and  were  as  comfortable  as  we  could  wish  to  be  under  the 
circumstances.  We  slept  better  on  our  bed  of  pine  boughs 
than  we  could  have  slept  on  a feather  bed  or  hair  mattress  at 
home,  without  the  toil,  the  mountain  air,  and  the  sport  of 
that  day.  Another  heavy  fall  of  snow  during  the  night, 
which  continued  through  a greater  portion  of  the  day.  After 
breakfast  we  talked  of  a programme  for  the  day,  but  the  boys 
said  they  didn’t  care  to  go  out  while  it  stormed  so  hard.  I 
was  loth  to  lose  any  time,  however,  and  so  started  about  six 
o’clock  to  see  what  I could  find. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A GRAND  DAY’S  SPORT. 

AN  EXCITING  CHASE — A LEAP  FOR  LIFE' — ALL  A MAN  WANTS  IS 
“SAND”  — OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN  WALL  — THE  CHASE  GROWS 
INTERESTING — ANOTHER  LEAP  FOR  LIFE  — I FOLLOW  MY  LEADER 
— RUN  TO  COVER  AT  LAST  — I DRINK  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE 
DEPARTED  — MORE  SPORT  — OLD  PLANTIGRADE  AND  HER  CUBS — - 
LOADED  FOR  BEAR  — THE  WHOLE  FAMILY  KILLED  — HOME  TO  CAMP. 

The  first  signs  of  sport  I saw  as  I journeyed  forth  alone 
were  those  of  half  a dozen  mule  deer,  commonly  (but  erro- 
neously) called  on  the  frontier,  black-tail  deer.  The  tracks 
showed  that  the  deer  had  been  ranging  about  leisurely  feeding. 
I selected  the  track  of  the  largest  buck,  and,  following  it 
perhaps  half  a mile,  jumped  him,  but  in  thick  brush  so  that  I 
failed  to  get  a shot.  He  bounded  away  through  the  thicket 
and  broke  cover  at  a distance  of  half  a mile  from  me.  As  he 
passed  over  an  open  ridge  I saw  that  he  was  a remarkably 
large,  fine  buck,  and  that  his  capture  would  well  repay  a long 
and  arduous  chase.  I had  often  heard  it  asserted  that  a 
hunter  who  possessed  sufficient  power  of  endurance,  enthu- 
siasm and  “sand”  could  run  a deer  down;  that  the  largest 
and  strongest  of  the  species  would  not  run  more  than  twenty 
to  thirty  miles  until  he  would  become  so  exhausted  that  he 
would  lag,  lie  down,  and  thus  give  the  hunter  an  easy  oppor- 
tunity to  approach  and  kill  him. 

I stopped  and  contemplated  the  chances  of  such  an 
undertaking.  A stern  chase  is  always  a long  chase,  and  when 
the  slow  and  steady  stride  of  a man  is  matched  against  the 
fleet-footed  bound  of  the  wild  and  wary  stag  it  must  indeed 

93 


94 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


be  doubly  so.  But  think  of  those  noble  antlers  added  to  my 
collection  of  trophies  and  specimens  at  home. 

How  proudly  would  I hang  my  hat  upon  them  in  the  hall 
as  I returned  at  night  from  my  day’s  work  at  the  office.  And 
how  serenely  could  I rest  upon  that  glossy  coat  as  it  formed  a 
covering  for  my  favorite  easy-chair.  I am  hooked  up  for  a 
long  tramp.  It  is  early  in  the  morning,  and  I have  eaten 
such  a breakfast  as  only  a man  can  eat  who  has  been  cam- 
paigning in  these  mountains,  and  who  sits  down  in  the  early 
morn  to  a plate  smoking  with  the  fruits  of  his  own  rifle.  The 
weather  is  cold,  the  air  clear,  bracing  and  exhilarating,  and  I 
decide  here  and  now  to  settle  the  question  to  my  own  satis- 
faction, as  to  whether  I at  least  can  run  down  and  kill  a deer 
in  a fair  chase. 

I took  up  the  trail  and  followed  it  across  the  ridge, 
through  sage-brush,  for  a mile  or  more  to  where  it  entered  a 
body  of  pine  timber.  Up  to  this  point  the  deer  had  kept  up 
his  long  jumps  of  about  fifteen  feet  each,  but  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  timber  he  slackened  his  pace  to  a walk,  and  a few 
hundred  yards  further  on  stopped  and  turned  to  look  back. 
I made  no  effort  to  steal  up  and  get  a shot  but  walked  briskly 
on,  only  taking  note  of  the  trail  sufficiently  to  follow  it.  As 
soon  as  he  obtained  sight  of  me,  or  heard  me  approaching  he 
again  bounded  away,  and,  now  appearing  to  realize  the  fact 
that  he  was  pursued,  he  plunged  swiftly  on,  as  if  bound  to 
distance  his  pursuer  and  make  good  his  escape  at  a single 
effort. 

He  took  a southerly  direction,  keeping  just  below  and  on 
the  west  side  of  the  crest  of  the  range,  and  for  two  or  three 
miles  I followed  the  trail  before  I saw  any  evidence  of  his 
slackening  speed.  But  at  last  the  jumps  began  to  grow 
shorter,  gradually  dropping  into  a trot  and  finally  into  a 
walk.  This  was  kept  up  for  another  mile,  when  I came  to 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


95 


where  he  had  again  stopped  to  take  breath.  From  this  point 
a repetition  of  the  long  jumps  showed  that  he  had  again 
taken  alarm  at  the  sound  of  my  coming  and  skipped  out. 

Now  more  thoroughly  alarmed  than  ever,  and  convinced 
that  desperate  measures  were  necessary  in  order  to  elude  me, 
he  changed  his  course  to  the  westward  and  started  for  a great 
canyon  that  opened  near  the  top  of  the  range.  He  plunged 
wildly  forward  through  sage-brush,  greasewood,  scrub-pine 
thickets,  heavy  pine  forests — through  windfalls  and  over 
rocky  barrens  until  he  reached  the  verge  of  the  north  wall 
of  the  canyon,  where  he  paused  to  see  if  I were  coming 
before  taking  the  plunge.  His  inquiry  was  soon -answered, 
for,  hearing  me  approaching,  he  wheeled  and  leaped  down 
the  almost  perpendicular  wall  at  such  a reckless  rate  of  speed 
that  he  lost  his  footing  at  the  very  start  and  rolled  and  tum- 
bled fifty  feet  through  the  brush  before  he  could  recover. 

When  I reached  the  spot  from  whence  my  quarry  had 
taken  this  fearful  leap  I paused  and  debated  in  my  mind 
whether  I should  risk  my  life  by  following  him  into  this 
awful  abyss.  The  wall  was  so  nearly  perpendicular  that  I 
could  and  did  reach  out  and  break  off  a twig  from  the  top  of 
a pine-tree  forty  feet  high,  and  which  stood  that  distance 
below  me  on  the  side  of  the  wall.  I looked  into  the  bottom 
of  the  canyon  and  my  brain  reeled  as  I thought  of  the 
danger  and  the  folly  of  trying  to  descend  into  it.  It  was 
2,000  feet  deep  if  it  was  a foot,  and  large  trees  that  stood  at 
the  base  of  either  wall  looked  from  where  I stood  like  mere 
saplings.  Rocks  that  I knew  would  weigh  many  tons  looked 
like  boulders  such  as  we  often  see  built  into  fences  or  stone 
walls.  The  rapid  mountain  stream  that  plunged  through  the 
canyon  looked  to  be  a mere  rill. 

But  why  parley?  My  game  has  gone  down  this  wall,  and 
while  I stand  here  querying  whether  it  is  possible  to  follow 


96 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


him  or  not,  and  at  the  same  time  almost  lost  in  admiration  of 
the  grand  panorama  spread  out  before  me,  he  is  rapidly 
speeding  away  from  me.  Of  course  it  is  possible  to  follow 
him.  A man  can  go  anywhere  that  a deer  can  if  he  (the  man) 
only  have  “sand”  enough.  And,  awakened  by  this  reflec- 
tion, I grasped  my  rifle  tightly  in  my  right  hand,  made  a 
spring,  and  next  touched  the  earth  twenty  feet  below  where  I 
jumped  from.  By  catching  firm  hold  of  a sapling  I was 
enabled  to  maintain  my  footing  and  steady  myself  for  the 
next  bound.  It  was  not  necessary  to  pay  close  attention  to 
the  trail  of  the  deer,  for  between  falling,  sliding,  plowing 
through  the  snow,  and  rolling  down  detached  rocks,  he  left  a 
trail  that  might  almost  have  been  mistaken  for  that  of  a small 
avalanche. 

He  soon  tired  of  this  perpendicular  flight,  however,  and 
began  to  tack  like  a vessel  sailing  against  the  wind.  This 
enabled  me  to  gain  rapidly  upon  him,  for  by  holding  on  to 
trees  and  bushes,  a faculty  he  did  not  possess,  I could  con- 
tinue my  descent  in  a straight  course.  Several  times  we 
encountered  perpendicular  ledges  of  rock  cropping  out  of 
the  main  wall  and  towering  to  a height  of  fifty,  seventy,  and 
even  a hundred  feet.  In  passing  some  of  these  it  was  neces- 
sary to  make  long  detours.  Then  there  were  chasms  and 
fissures  from  five  to  twenty  feet  wide.  Some  of  these  I could 
jump  across,  but  was  compelled  to  round  many  of  them. 

Still  I kept  on  and  on,  until  at  last  the  frightful  descent, 
with  all  its  dangers,  toils  and  vicissitudes,  was  accomplished, 
and  I stood  upon  the  bank  of  the  clear,  cold  mountain  torrent 
that  flowed  with  a wild,  roaring,  echoing  music  through  the 
canyon. 

Into  this  the  buck  had  plunged,  and  had  evidently  waded 
down  it.  This  was  another  trick  by  which  he  hoped  to  evade 
me,  for  here  I could  not  trail  him.  I followed  down  the 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


97 


right  bank  perhaps  200  yards,  watching  both  banks  closely, 
when  I saw  his  trail  emerge  and  lead  out  on  the  opposite 
side.  I waded  the  stream,  whose  icy  waters  almost  paralyzed 
my  limbs,  took  up  the  trail  which  wound  through  the  brush, 
first  up  and  then  down  the  stream,  until,  finding  that  I was 
still  following,  he  started  directly  up  the  opposite  wall  of  the 
canyon. 

But  here  he  began  to  show  unmistakable  signs  of  weaken- 
ing. In  making  this  ascent  he  would  stop  every  few  rods, 
and  would  frequently  lie  down.  He  made  frequent  doubles 
on  his  trail,  by  which  he  evidently  hoped  to  elude  me ; but, 
though  these  clever  ruses  often  succeed  with  a hound,  who 
runs  entirely  by  scent,  they  did  not  trouble  me  in  the  least,  as 
I could  readily  see  in  every  case  where  he  had  broken  off  on 
the  return ; so  that  I could  take  up  the  trail  here  and  save  all 
the  distance  he  had  traveled  on  the  double.  This  gave  me  a 
decided  advantage,  for  it  enabled  me  to  press  him  all  the  harder. 

The  wall  which  we  were  now  ascending  was  as  steep, 
rugged  and  difficult  as  the  one  which  we  had  just  descended, 
and  though  climbing  up  was  much  harder  work  for  me  than 
jumping  and  sliding  down,  I consoled  myself  with  the 
reflection  that  it  was  also  much  harder  for  my  antlered  fugi- 
tive. An  hour  of  this  toil  landed  me  again  on  top  of  the 
south  wall.  Here  was  a wide  plateau  partly  covered  with 
pine  timber,  the  remainder  with  sage  brush.  Over  this  the 
frightened  and  now  weary  stag  circled,  doubled,  crossed  and 
recrossed,  trying,  but  still  in  vain,  to  mislead  me.  He  moves 
now  almost  altogether  in  a walk.  Occasionally,  when  I 
approach  closely,  he  takes  fresh  alarm  and  makes  a few 
spasmodic  bounds,  but  he  is  too  far  exhausted  to  continue 
them,  and  soon  relapses  again  into  a slow,  dragging  walk, 
keeping  just  far  enough  ahead  of  me  all  the  time  to  be  out  of 
sight. 


7 


98 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


At  last,  finding  that  he  can’t  shake  me  off  his  trail  by 
these  tactics,  he  strikes  straight  south  again.  I follow,  and 
after  a walk  of  a mile  I find  that  his  trail  leads  me  to  the 
brink  of  another  canyon  as  deep,  bold  and  rugged  as  the  one 
I have  just  crossed.  “Great  heavens!’’  thought  I,  “can  it 
be  possible  he  is  going  into  this?  ’’  “ Yes,  my  brave  hunter,’’ 
he  seemed  to  say,  as  he  paused  on  top  of  the  wall  and  looked 
back  to  see  if  I were  coming.  “ I must  now  bid  you  good 
day.  I have  been  playing  with  you  thus  far ; but  now  I have 
other  business  to  attend  to  and  must  leave  you.  Besides,  I 
am  getting  tired  and  must  go  and  lie  down  awhile.  I 
have  given  you  one  dose  of  canyon  and  I don’t  think  you  will 
want  another.  So  here  goes  for  the  bottom  of  this  one. 
Good-by,  my  lad.  ’ ’ And  his  trail  showed  that  he  had  surely 
enough  taken  that  awful  plunge  again.  I hesitated  but  a 
moment  as  to  whether  I should  follow,  and  then  my  mind 
was  made  up.  “Not  much,  my  fine  buck,”  said  I.  “I 
haven’t  taken  this  tramp  for  my  health.  I’m  after  that  hand- 
some coat  of  yours,  and  I’ll  have  it  if  I have  to  camp  on 
your  trail  to-night  and  renew  the  chase  to-morrow. 

So  saying  I let  go,  and  away  I went  again  at  break-neck 
speed,  down,  down,  down,  over  rocks,  chasms,  fallen  trees, 
and  through  thick  brush,  until  the  foot  of  the  wall  was  at  last 
reached.  Here  the  trail  wound  and  twisted  again.  Here 
were  new  doubles  and  crosses.  Here  were  frequent  “standing 
tracks”  where  he  had  stopped  to  rest,  warm  beds  in  the 
snow  every  few  rods  where  he  had  lain  down,  all  showing 
unmistakably  that  the  quarry  was  far  exhausted.  In  follow- 
ing the  track  across  a level  strip  of  bottom  in  the  canyon  I 
came  upon  the  track  of  a large  she  bear  and  two  cubs.  But 
it  was  not  fresh,  so  I did  not  leave  the  trail  I was  on  to  fol- 
low it,  but  I promised  the  buck  then  and  there  that  if  he 
would  in  his  meanderings  lead  me  upon  this  new  game  I 


IN  THE  EIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


99 


would  give  him  his  liberty  and  take  their  scalps  instead.  But 
he  heeded  not  my  promise  and  kept  on  down  the  canyon. 
Here  a new  danger  presented  itself  to  my  mind.  The  snow 
even  here  in  the  canyon  was  much  lighter  than  on  the  moun- 
tains, and  so  light  in  places  that  it  was  difficult  to  follow  the 
trail,  and  I knew  that  a short  distance  down  the  canyon  it 
opened  out  into  the  Big  Horn  Valley,  which  was  an  open 
prairie  and  entirely  below  the  snow-line. 

And  the  wily  buck  seemed  to  understand  this  fact  as  wrell 
as  I,  for  without  further  ado  he  headed  straight  down  the 
canyon.  I followed  briskly,  hoping  to  get  within  sight  of 
him  and  obtain  a shot  before  he  should  get  beyond  the  snow. 
As  I emerged  from  the  timber  and  looked  out  upon  the  dry, 
hard  ground  of  the  prairie  in  the  valley,  my  heart  sank  within 
me,  for  I thought  after  all  my  toil,  my  tramping,  climbing, 
wading  and  crawling,  I was  outwitted  and  left.  But  placing 
my  field-glass  to  my  eyes  and  scanning  the  ground  closely  I 
saw  a gray  bunch  of  something  with  a white  spot  at  one  end 
of  it,  closely  ensconced  under  a cluster  of  greasewood.  I 
examined  it  closely  and  carefully,  and  finally  satisfied  myself 
that  it  was  my  buck.  By  changing  my  position  slightly  I 
could  plainly  distinguish  his  antlers.  His  head  lay  flat  upon 
the  ground,  as  if  dead,  and  his  tongue  protruded  to  almost 
its  full  length.  Knowing  that  I could  not  track  him  on  the 
dry,  hard  prairie  he  had  gone  far  enough  from  the  snow 
to  be,  as  he  thought,  safe,  and,  concealing  himself  under  this 
clump  of  bushes,  doubtless  considered  himself  beyond  all 
possibility  of  discovery.  Indeed,  I probably  never  should 
have  found  him  without  the  aid  of  a field-glass. 

He  was  about  eight  hundred  yards  from  where  I stood, 
but  I knew  that  I could  get  an  easy  shot  at  him  as  he  was  off 
his  guard,  so  I stepped  down  the  side  of  the  hill  until  I got  a 
low  ridge  between  him  and  myself,  when  I crept  cautiously  to 


100 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


the  crest  of  it,  which  brought  me  within  about  a hundred  and 
fifty  yards  of  him.  Here  I leveled  my  rifle  at  him  and 
turned  her  loose.  At  the  report  he  sprang  into  the  air,  made 
two  or  three  convulsive  bounds,  and  fell  dead. 

In  a moment  I was  at  '"’s  side  and  my  knife  was  hissing 
through  his  hide.  I threw  mm  out  of  it  in  short  order,  cut 
a favorite  roast  from  his  loin,  and  started  for  camp.  At  the 
creek  which  flows  through  this  canyon  I stopped  and  took  a 
drink  in  honor  of  the  event  from  the  cold  crystal  fluid  that 
comes  fresh  from  the  snow.  I looked  at  my  watch,  and  found 
that  it  had  been  seven  and  a half  hours  from  the  time  I struck 
the  trail  of  the  deer  in  the  morning  until  I killed  it.  As  I 
had  made  a good  three-mile  gate  all  the  time,  I must  have 
ran  him  something  over  twenty  miles. 

As  I passed  up  the  canyon  on  my  return  to  camp  I again 
came  upon  the  trail  of  the  bear  and  her  two  cubs,  and  here  it 
was  fresh.  They  had  been  feeding  on  the  choke-cherries 
that  grow  here  in  abundance,  and  had  passed  over  this  spot 
not  twenty  minutes  before  me.  It  was  now  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon  and  1 should  have  to  hurry  to  reach  camp  before 
dark,  but  here  was  a temptation  I could  not  resist.  I had 
rather  camp  in  the  canyon  alone  to-night  than  miss  this 
opportunity  of  corralling  three  bears  in  a bunch  ; so  I took  up 
their  trail  and  followed  it.  In  a few  minutes  I heard  the  cubs 
calling  to  their  mother'"  making  a noise  something  like  the 
squealing  of  a pig.  I r‘'uld  also  hear  the  mother  grunt  and 
growl  at  them  in  reply.  They  were  not  over  a hundred  yards 
from  me,  but  the  brush  was  so  thick  in  this  locality  that  I 
could  not  see  a tenth  of  that  distance  in  any  direction. 

I dropped  the  trail  and  started  for  the  noise,  which  the 
cubs  kept  up  nearly  all  the  time.  I crawled  through  thickets 
on  my  hands  and  knees  and  climbed  over  ...great  masses  of 
broken  and  disordered  rocks,  until  I found  myself  within 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


101 


thirty  feet  of  the  monster  old  plantigrade  and  her  two  young 
hopefuls.  She  was  a large  savage-looking  grizzly,  and  her 
cubs  were  about  half-grown.  I felt  perfectly  secure,  however, 
for  I was  loaded  for  bear,  even  to  the  size  and  number  of  the 
party  I was  looking  at.  I have  one  cartridge  in  the  chamber 
of  the  rifle  and  three  more  in  n.  left  hand  ready  for  imme- 
diate use,  should  the  first  fail  to  bring  her  down.  As  a 
precautionary  measure,  however,  I have  taken  a strap  from  my 
pocket,  tied  one  end  around  the  breech  of  my  rifle  and  the 
other  to  my  belt,  so  that  if  compelled  to  tree,  my  gun  will  go 
up  with  me. 

The  old  she-bear,  when  I came  in  sight,  at  once  raised  on 
her  haunches  to  take  a look  at  me.  As  she  did  so  I took  a 
dead  aim  at  her  breast  and  fired.  At  the  report  she  reeled, 
staggered  and  fell ; but  recovered  strength  enough  to  regain 
her  feet  and  started  toward  me.  By  this  time  I had  another 
cartridge  in  my  gun,  and  a quick  aim,  a steady  hand  and  a 
pull  just  at  the  right  instant  planted  a ball  just  above  her 
left  eye,  at  which  she  dropped  dead  almost  without  a struggle. 
The  ball  exploded  when  it  struck  and  carried  away  a piece  of 
the  skull  from  just  above  the  ear  nearly  as  large  as  my  hand, 
scattering  her  brains  in  every  direction.  The  first  ball,  I 
found  on  examination,  had  passed  through  her  heart,  tearing 
it  into  a shapeless  mass,  but  so  great  an  amount  of  vitality 
and  brute  force  do  these  animals  possess  that  they  will  with- 
stand the  effect  of  such  a shot  as  even  this  several  minutes 
before  death  will  ensue. 

To  dispatch  the  two  cubs  was  but  the  work  of  as  many 
seconds — one  shot  to  each  being  sufficient  to  lay  them  out. 
The  only  trophies  I could  save  from  these  were  the  claws  Of 
the  old  one,  as  it  was  getting  so  late  that  I could  not  take 
time  to  skin  them,  nor  could  I carry  the  skins  home  if  I did. 

When  I reached  the  top  of  the  canyon  wall  the  sun  was 


r02 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


low  in  the  west.  I had  at  least  fifteen  miles  to  walk  yet  to 
reach  camp,  but  a brisk  walk,  and  for  a portion  of  the  way  a 
dog-trot,  landed  me  there  at  nine  o’clock,  tired,  wet  and 
hungry  enough  to  eat  four  men’s  rations. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


A BUSY  DAY. 

SCORIK'  A MISS — HUFFMAN  PHOTOGRAPHS  A SCENE — SHAKSPEARE 
IN  the  MOUNTAINS — A GRIZZLY  “RUSTLING  FOR  CHUCK” — -A 
RACE  FOR  LIFE  — BRUIN  FALLS  — A SEVERE  ATTACK  OF  PUNNING  — 
BUTTER  SIDE  DOWN  — A HERD  OF  ELK  — MORE  SPORT. 

Huffman  had  been  out  during  the  afternoon  and  made  a 
few  exposures  on  some  fine  scenery.  We  experienced  an- 
other cold  night.  While  eating  our  breakfast  next  morning, 
ice  formed  on  water  we  had  brought  from  the  spring  but  a 
few  minutes  before.  We  moved  at  nine  o’clock  a.m.,  keep- 
ing northward  along  the  west  slope  of  the  mountain.  At 
three  p.m.  we  made  camp  near  some  large  springs  and  in  the 
edge  of  a group  of  pines.  On  the  little  park  in  front  of  our 
camp  the  grass  was  thick  and  furnished  capital  grazing  for 
the  animals. 

Just  as  we  halted  for  camp,  five  mule  deer,  three  bucks 
and  two  does,  jumped  from  the  grass  about  two  hundred 
yards  from  us,  and  started  up  a hill  toward  the  timber.  We 
built  a smudge  after  them,  tore  the  ground  up  all  around  them, 
and  finally  knocked  one  down. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  some  springs  near  us  to  watch 
tor  elk,  as  signs  were  very  plentiful  there,  showing  that  they 
had  been  coming  in  there  to  water  and  feed  every  night.  We 
hoped  they  might  show  up  this  evening  before  dark,  but  they 
did  not.  The  next  morning,  while  packing  up  two  more 
deer,  a buck  and  doe  came  into  the  meadow  within  a few 
rods  of  our  camp.  Jack  caught  up  his  carbine  and  knocked 
one  of  them  down.  In  the  afternoon,  as  we  were  passing 

103 


104 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


through  a heavy  body  of  timber,  we  sighted  our  first  elk — a 
bull  and  cow.  They  were  about  a hundred  yards  ahead  of 
us,  and  saw  us  about  the  same  time  we  saw  them.  Jack  slid 
off  his  mule  and  opened  on  them  bringing  the  bull  down 
with  his  second  shot,  while  on  the  run.  At  this  the  cow 
circled  around  us  so  as  to  give  us  each  a shot.  I scored  a 
miss,  but  Huffman,  who  was  in  the  rear,  hit  her  in  the  flank 
with  his  first  shot,  missed  with  his  second  and  third,  and 
finally  brought  her  down  with  a broken  shoulder  on  the 
fourth  round. 

Later  in  the  day,  as  we  were  passing  another  of  the  small 
parks,  I saw  an  object  under  the  low  hanging  branches  of  a 
small  pine  tree  that  looked  like  a deer — a buck  with  large 
antlers  standing  facing  us.  I pointed  it  out  to  the  other  boys 
and  asked  them  if  it  were  not  a deer,  but  they  thought  not — 
thought  it  was  only  a log  with  dead  limbs  on  it.  The  ground 
was  bare  of  snow  there,  and  the  dense  shade  caused  by  the 
green  foliage  of  the  pine  tree  rendered  the  figure  very  indis- 
tinct, still  it  looked  so  much  like  game  that  I told  them  I 
would  try  it  one  any  way.  As  I turned  the  old  pill-driver 
loose,  the  deer — for  such  it  proved  to  be — made  one  leap  into 
the  air  and  was  out  of  sight  in  the  brush.  Then  we  saw  five 
or  six  others  leap  across  an  opening  about  ten  feet  wide, 
between  two  clumps  of  scrub  pine.  As  they  went  we  fanned 
them,  and  when  the  circus  was  over  we  went  down  there. 
One  handsome  buck  lay  dead  within  twenty  feet  of  where  the 
performance  took  place,  with  a hole  in  his  shoulder  where  a 
bullet  had  entered,  and  one  among  the  short  ribs  on  the 
opposite  side  where  it  had  passed  out. 

Huffman  unpacked  “Nig”  and  exposed  a plate  on  this 
fellow,  after  placing  a large  elk  skull  and  antlers  that  lay  near 
the  spot  in  the  rear  of  the  “subject”  to  fill  in  the  back- 
ground. 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


105 


Soon  after  leaving  this  point  we  passed  out  of  the  timber 
entirely  onto  a high,  open  plateau — a broad  stretch  of  prairie 
tableland.  Over  this  we  were  slowly  wending  our  way, 
when  we  saw  at  a distance,  about  a mile  and  a half  ahead  of 
us,  a large  dark  object  moving  slowly  about,  evidently  feed- 
ing. I took  out  my  field  glass  to  try  and  determine  what  the 
strange  apparition  was,  that  here  upon  this  blasted  heath 
stopped  our  way  with  such  peculiar  motions.  Huffman  said 
it  was  a buffalo.  Jack  said  : 

“No,  it’s  a horse  with  a saddle  on.  There  must  be  a 
camp  not  far  off.” 

By  this  time  I had  adjusted  the  glass  and  taken  an  obser- 
vation. 

“ It’s  a bear,”  said  I,  “and  a big  one,  too.” 

“Well,”  said  Huffman,  “If  that’s  a bear  it’s  the  biggest 
one  in  the  mountains.” 

I passed  him  the  glass.  He  looked,  still  doubted  my 
assertion  ; but  we  resolved  to  settle  the  question  of  its 
identity  in  short  meter,  and  as  we  put  spurs  to  our  animals, 
Huffman  shouted  in  tragic  tones: 

“ Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  ! 

Be  thou  a spirit  of  health,  or  goblin  damn’d, 

Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from  hell, 

Be  thy  intents  wicked  or  charitable; 

Thou  com’st  in  such  a questionable  shape, 

That  I will  speak  to  thee, 

With  this  old  paralyzer  of  mine.” 

As  our  mules  tore  up  the  sod  and  filled  the  air  in  our  rear 
with  pulverized  grass  and  mud,  the  distance  between  us  and 
the  mysterious  apparition  rapidly  diminished,  and  we  soon 
saw  plainly  enough  with  the  naked  eye,  that  it  was  a large 
grizzly  engaged  in  turning  over  rocks  and  clawing  up  the 
ground  in  search  of  worms ; or  as  the  Western  slang  expresses 
it  — “ rustling  for  his  chuck.  ” We  now  halted  and  laid  our 


106 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


plan  of  attack,  which  was,  that  Huffman  and  Jack  should  go 
to  the  right  of  him  to  keep  him  from  getting  into  a canyon 
on  that  side  if  we  failed  to  bring  him  down,  and  I to  the  left 
in  order  to  cut  off  his  retreat  should  he  attempt  to  reach  a 
canyon  that  lay  on  the  left  of  him,  or  a body  of  timber  near 
by. 

We  rode  rapidly,  taking  care  to  keep  on  the  lower  ground 
and  out  of  his  sight,  as  much  as  possible.  When  I got  within 
about  a hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  him,  I dismounted,  knelt, 
and  turned  “ old  reliable”  loose  on  him.  As  her  voice  rang 
out  over  the  mountains  and  echoed  through  the  canyons,  he 
reared  up,  looked  quickly  round  him,  saw  us,  took  in  the 
whole  situation  in  a second,  and  then  started  for  the  timber 
at  a rate  of  speed  that  astonished  us  all.  I never  would  have 
believed  that  a bear  could  run  as  that  bear  ran  if  I had  been 
told  about  it.  But  he  seemed  to  realize  that  he  had  been 
caught  in  a hard  shower  and  was  a long  ways  from  shelter, 
that  he  was  largely  in  the  minority  and  would  stand  a poor 
show  in  a fight,  that  discretion  would  in  his  case  prove  the 
better  part  of  valor,  and  that  by  making  the  best  use  of  the 
little  time  that  was  left  him  for  this  world,  he  might  possibly 
reach  the  timber  to  the  south,  and  be  permitted  to  die  alone 
and  in  peace.  I think  that  if  Goldsmith  Maid,  Bonesetter, 
Maud  S.,  Iroquois,  Dexter,  Foxhall  and  the  whole  lot  of  those 
fast  horses  had  been  there  and  seen  that  bear  run,  they  would 
have  kicked  their  hind  shoes  off  and  quit  the  turf  in  disgust. 
I slipped  a second  cartridge  into  my  rifle,  took  a running  shot 
at  the  old  monster,  but  forgot  that  I was  shooting  against  the 
speed  of  a comet,  and  my  ball  struck  about  ten  feet  behind 
him.  I then  mounted  old  Blinkie,  gave  him  the  steel,  and 
started  for  a race  with  Bruin.  It  was  nip  and  tuck  for  a short 
distance,  but  the  grizzly’s  strength  soon  failed  him,  and  when 
he  saw  that  he  could  not  escape,  he  turned  and  came  for  me. 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS.  107 

The  pony  didn’t  like  this  first-rate,  but  still  didn’t  make  as 
big  a fool  of  himself  as  most  horses  would  under  the  circum- 
stances. I dismounted,  and  was  just  ready  to  pull  on  the 
bear  again,  when  he  stopped  and  sank  to  the  ground. 

I waited  for  reinforcements  before  going  up  to  him,  and 
when  Jack  and  Huffman  came  up  I advanced  very  cautiously, 


THE  DEAD  GRIZZLY. 


keeping  the  enemy  covered  with  my  rifle  lest  he  might  be 
only  “possuming”  and  would  charge  me  when  I got  too 
close  to  retreat.  But  not  so.  I found  him  stone  dead,  shot 
through  and  through,  just  behind  the  shoulders. 

We  found  on  examination  that  my  bullet  had  exploded  as 
soon  as  it  passed  through  the  skin,  had  riddled  the  lungs  until 


108 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


they  were  scarcely  recognizable,  and  passed  out,  breaking  two 
ribs  on  the  side  where  it  went  in  and  three  where  it  came 
out.  He  did  not  run  more  than  a hundred  yards,  and  this 
was  the  only  shot  that  hit  him.  A forty  caliber  that  will 
break  a grizzly  up  like  that  is  slick  enough  for  me  ; brother 
Van  Dyke’s  opinion  to  the  contrary,  notwithstanding. 

We  made  camp  in  the  edge  of  the  timber  near  by,  and 
after  dinner  Huffman  made  several  good  views  of  the  critter. 
Then  we  skinned  him,  and  now  when  I step  out  of  bed  these 
cold  winter  mornings,  instead  of  landing  with  my  bare  feet 
on  the  bare  floor  as  other  newspaper  men  have  to  do,  I step 
proudly  on  the  soft  warm  skin  of  that  bear.  In  other  words, 
the  bear  skin  keeps  my  bare  feet  off  the  bare  floor.  It  is 
barely  possible  that  some  of  my  readers  may  see  this  thread- 
bare pun.  If  I thought  they  would  bear  more  of  this  sort  of 
stuff,  I would  prolong  the  discussion,  but  I forbear. 

The  old  fellow  was  very  fat.  I took  a large  quantity  of 
the  fat  and  fried  it  out  in  our  frying  pan  by  the  camp-fire 
that  night.  I brought  home  a canteen  full  of  it,  and  it  fits 
my  rifle  first-rate. 

The  snow  had  all  disappeared  from  this  plateau,  and  we 
had  difficulty  in  finding  enough  in  the  timber  for  the  stock 
and  for  cooking  purposes  that  night — there  being  no  water 
in  the  vicinity.  We  spent  the  nexr  day  in  winding  among 
the  canyons  of  this  locality,  trying  to  find  a trail  by  which 
we  could  get  out  and  down  into  the  Big  Horn  valley,  but  no 
sooner  did  we  cross  one  of  these  terrible  chasms,  each  ot 
which  was  from  a thousand  to  three  thousand  feet  deep,  than 
we  found  our  way  impeded  by  another. 

We  had  crossed  one  of  them  and  was  toiling  up  the  oppo- 
site wall  of  it,  picking  our  way  over  rocks  and  among  crags, 
where  you  would  not  suppose,  to  look  at- it,  that  a dog  could 
go  in  safety,  when  we  met  with  what  might  have  proved  a 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS, 


109 


a serious  accident.  One  of  our  pack  mules  — a little  sorrel, 
called  Scotty  — was  blind  in  his  left  eye.  At  one  point,  a 
ledge  of  rock  projected  over  the  narrow  trail  from  the  right 


BUTTER  SIDE  DOWN. 


hand  side  to  such  a distance  as  to  leave  barely  room  for  the 
pack  mules  to  pass  without  their  packs  catching  on  the 
shelving  point.  Scotty  saw  this  obstruction  with  his  good 


110 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


eye,  but  could  not  see  the  danger  that  beset  him  on  his  blind 
side,  and  as  he  approached  the  crag  he  naturally  shied  off  to 
dodge  it,  just  as  a book  agent  shies  away  from  a cross  dog 
that  is  chained  up  in  the  front  yard.  He  swerved  a little  too 
far  from  the  path  of  duty,  and  with  a crashing,  rattling, 
smashing  racket  he  went  rolling,  turning,  sliding  down  the 
the  almost  perpendicular  wall,  a distance  of  forty  feet  or 
more,  and  landed,  butter  side  down,  in  the  creek  at  the  foot 
of  the  wall. 

“ There  goes  our  Dutch  oven,”  said  Huffman,  “ smashed 
all  to  thunder,  I’ll  bet.” 

“Yes,  and  there  goes  our  flour  and  sugar,  all  wet,  and 
turned  to  dough  and  molasses,”  said  I. 

“ Darn  your  Dutch  oven  and  grub,”  said  Jack,  “there 
goes  Uncle  Sam’s  mule,  all  ground  into  sausage  meat.  If  we 
ever  save  any  of  his  load,  we’ll  have  to  walk  and  carry  it 
ourselves  from  this  on.” 

We  hurried  down  to  where  the  wreck  lay,  as  fast  as 
possible,  and  to  our  surprise  found  the  poor  creature  still 
breathing.-  We  waded  in,  and  unlashed  his  load  as  quickly 
as  we  could,  pulled  one  of  the  boxes  away  from  him,  so  that 
he  could  turn  over,  and  with  our  help  he  struggled  to  his 
feet.  We  found  that,  though  badly  cut  and  bruised,  he  had 
sustained  no  serious  injuries  — that  he  was  much  worse  scared 
than  hurt  — that  he  was  slightly  disfigured,  but  still  in  the 
ring.  We  examined  the  rocks  over  which  he  had  fallen,  and 
found  that  only  a small  chunk  was  broken  off  here  and  there ; 
that  further  than  this  they,  too,  were  uninjured. 

We  next  carried  the  boxes  ashore,  and  unpacked  them. 
The  Dutch  oven,  our  dearest  treasure  of  all,  was  safe.  The 
potatoes  and  canned  beans  ditto.  The  sugar  was  decidedly 
damp,  and  much  of  its  sweetness  had  been  wasted  on  the 
desert  air.  The  flour  had  fortunately  been  put  on  one  of  the 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


Ill 


other  mules  that  morning,  and  so  these  were  the  only  casual- 
ties. We  led  the  erring  brother  back  onto  the  high  and 
narrow  way,  adjusted  his  burden  upon  his  willing  back,  and 
once  more  slowly  wended  our  weary  way  toward  the  goal. 

We  camped  near  a fine  spring  that  night,  on  the  same 
plateau  and  only  a few  miles  from  the  scene  of  our  former 
night’s  camp.  All  night  we  could  hear  elk  whistling  around 
our  camp.  They  wanted  to  come  to  the  spring  for  water,  but 
the  sight  of  our  white  canvas,  our  mules,  etc.,  kept  them  back. 
Along  toward  morning  I saw  one  large  bull  standing  on  the 
top  of  a ridge  about  seventy-five  or  eighty  yards  away. 
There  was  no  moon  at  that  hour,  but  the  stars  shone  brightly, 
and  his  majestic  form  was  plainly  visible  by  their  light.  I 
crawled  out  of  bed,  took  my  rifle,  and  started  to  crawl  up 
toward  him,  but  he  saw  or  heard  me,  and  vanished  into  thin 
air  before  I could  get  near  enough  for  a sure  shot. 

We  were  up  at  5 o’clock  a.m.,  had  an  early  breakfast,  and 
moved  at  six.  After  we  had  gone  about  half  a mile  from 
camp,  we  looked  back  and  saw  a small  band  of  elk  coming 
over  a ridge  away  to  the  southwest,  heading  directly  for  the 
spring  we  had  just  left.  Huffman  and  I dismounted,  left 
Conley  in  charge  of  the  mules,  and  ran  down  into  a coulee 
out  of  sight.  Then  began  a long,  tedious,  laborious  still 
hunt.  The  elk  were  on  higher  ground  than  we,  and  were 
moving,  slowly,  cautiously,  warily  toward  us,  stopping  at 
frequent  intervals  to  scan  the  ground  and  sniff  the  air  in 
search  of  danger.  We  had  a broad  expanse  of  level  prairie 
to  pass  over  yet  before  reaching  the  cover  of  the  brush,  and 
we  knew  that  in  order  to  get  a shot  we  must  needs  be  in  the 
thicket  before  the  elk  got  there.  To  get  over  this  open 
prairie  without  letting  the  game  discover  us  was  an  under- 
taking of  no  small  magnitude.  We  laid  down  and  crawled 
through  the  grass  a distance  of  a hundred  yards  or  more  to  a 


112 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


low  swale,  where,  by  stooping  low,  we  were  concealed  behind 
a ridge  between  us  and  the  game.  Here  we  rose  to  our  feet, 
and  ran  up  this  swale  as  far  as  it  went  in  our  direction. 
Then  we  paused  to  watch  the  elk.  They  were  still  moving 
slowly  toward  the  spring,  from  the  south,  and  we  from  the 
east.  Another  tedious  crawl  of  twenty  minutes,  that  seemed 
to  us  like  so  many  hours,  brought  us  to  the  edge  of  the 
thicket  of  quaking-asp. 

Here  we  took  a breathing  spell,  for  we  were  now  safe 
from  observation,  and  had  plenty  of  time  to  reach  the  spring 
before  our  competitors  in  the  race  could  get  there.  Then  we 
moved  cautiously  up  through  the __ brush  to  the  opposite  edge, 
near  the  spring  where  we  could  look  through,  and  our  race 
was  ended.  The  band  was  yet  two  hundred  yards  away,  and 
we  had  plenty  of  leisure  to  watch  them.  They  were  strung  out 
in  single  file,  led  by  an  old  cow,  followed  by  her  calf.  Next 
came  an  old  bull,  then  another  cow  and  calf,  then  two  young 
bulls,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  line.  The  leader,  with 
true  motherly  instinct,  watched  every  moving  blade  of  grass, 
and  every  leaf  in  the  thicket,  as  they  rustled  in  the  wind, 
frequently  turning  to  her  calf  and  caressing  it,  as  much  as  to 
say:  “ Come  on,  little  one,  I will  take  care  of  you.” 

They  ivere  evidently  the  same  band  that  had  been  there 
during  the  night,  else  they  would  not  have  been  so  cautious 
about  approaching  their  usual  haunt,  but  they  had  doubtless, 
from  their  distant  lookout,  seen  us  move  arvay  with  our  train, 
and  thought  Ave  Avere  out  of  sight  long  ago.  But  a feeling  of 
danger  seemed  to  hang  over  them  still,  and  they  shoived  the 
care  and  caution  of  an  Indian  Avarrior  in  approaching  an 
enemy.  It  was  interesting  to  study  their  movements,  their 
Avary,  cautious  advance.  At  last  they  reached  a point  within 
fifty  yards  of  us,  and  stopped  again.  The  wind  Avas  in  our 
favor,  and  even  at  this  short  distance  they  could  not  scent  us, 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


113 


It  was  now  time  to  open  the  ball.  The  lead  cow  stood 
broadside  to  me,  and  I drew  on  her  side  just  back  of  the 
shoulder,  Huffman  at  the  same  time  taking  a bead  on  the 
largest  bull.  Our  rifles  cracked  simultaneously.  The  cow 
sprang  forward,  then  wheeled,  started  back  toward  the  herd 
and  fell  dead.  The  bull  dropped  on  his  knees,  then  raised, 


SKINNING  THE  ELK. 

plunged  forward  a few  feet,  staggered,  and  fell  very  near  the 
cow.  The  other  animals  dashed  away  in  opposite  directions, 
but  stopped  suddenly,  turned,  and  stood  looking  at  each 
other,  and  at  their  fallen  companions.  We  remained  con- 
cealed, but  did  not  care  to  continue  the  slaughter.  We  fired  a 
shot  in  the  air  to  watch  its  effect  upon  them.  They  were 
8 


114 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


panic-stricken,  and  would  not  run,  but  huddled  together  and 
stood  there  trembling.  Then  we  walked  out  into  the  open 
ground,  and  when  they  saw  us,  and  knew  from  whence  the 
danger  came,  they  turned,  and  went  over  the  prairie  with  the 
speed  of  a courser. 

I found  on  skinning  the  cow  that  my  bullet  (an  explosive) 
had  passed  directly  through  ner,  ranging  a little  forward,  and 
coming  out  at  the  shoulder.  It  had  broken  two  ribs  where  it 
went  in,  and  shattered  the  shoulder-blade  where  it  came  out. 
This  was  from  a forty  caliber  rifle,  mind  you,  and  it  would 
seem  from  this  shot  to  be  about  as  effective  a weapon  as 
brother  Van  Dyke’s  sixty-five  caliber  cannon. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


FROM  CUSTER  TO  KEOUGH. 

IN  THE  BIG  HORN  RANGE  — THE  BLACK  CANYON — A PERILOUS  DESCENT — 
JACK  LOADED  FOR  BEAR  — BEAR  LOADED  FOR  JACK  — HUFFMAN’S 
TRAIL  — SCALING  A MOUNTAIN  WALL  — CUSTER’S  GRAVE  — UP  THE 
BIG  PORCUPINE — FLAGGING  THE  ANTELOPE  — ANTELOPES  AS  CURIOUS 
AS  WOMEN — NO  COUNTRY  LIKE  THE  BIG  HORN  FOR  SPORT. 

At  about  eleven  o’clock  next  morning  we  reached  the  Black 
Canyon,  one  of  the  grandest  in  the  Big  Horn  range.  It  is 
from  two  thousand  to  three  thousand  feet  deep,  and  from  an 
eighth  to  a quarter  of  a mile  wide.  Its  walls  are  precipitous, 
almost  perpendicular  in  many  places,  great  ledges  of  white 
limestone  and  red  sandstone  cropping  out  here  and  there,  and 
towering  hundreds  of  feet  toward  the  heavens,  their  faces  split 
and  waterworn  into  fantastic  shapes  resembling  the  ruins  of 
some  ancient  mosque  or  castle.  Through  the  bottom  of  this 
canyon  runs  one  of  those  clear,  cold,  rapid  mountain  streams 
that  poets  love  to  linger  over,  and  that  always  fills  the  heart  of 
the^  true  sportsman  with  rapture  when  he  beholds  its  crystal 
fluid  and  listens  to  its  joyous  music.  This  one  is  ten  to 
twenty  feet  wide  at  this  point,  and  very  swift.  It  boils  and 
foams  over  large  boulders  and  beds  of  snow  white  gravel.  Its 
waters  are  so  pure  and  cold  that  not  a particle  of  moss  or 
fungus  of  any  kind  can  be  found  on  the  rocks  or  logs  that  lie 
in  its  pathway. 

On  either  side  of  the  stream  are  beautiful  little  parks 
where  green  grass  grows  luxuriantly,  and  these  are  surrounded 
and  shaded  by  tall,  handsome  pines,  cottonwoods  and  other 
varieties  of  timber.  We  halted  on  top  of  the  wall,  and 

115 


.1*3  IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 

gazed  down  upon  the  scene  of  enchantment.  We  were  en- 
raptured, delighted,  intoxicated  with  its  beauty  and  grandeur. 
We  longed  to  live  in  this  fairyland,  to  feast  our  eager  eyes 
always  on  such  a picture. 

But  this  could  not  be. 

Our  time  was  growing  short,  and  we  must  soon  bid  the 
mountains  farewell. 

Huffman  went  ahead  to  seek  a passage-way  into  the  canyon. 
There  was  only  a game  trail  where  we  entered  it  — no  evi- 
dence that  any  human  being  had  ever  risked  his  life  by 
descending  the  wall  where  we  were  about  to  descend  it.  After 
Huffman  had  gone  down  some  five  or  six  hundred  feet,  he 
fired  a shot  as  a signal  that  we  were  to  come  on,  that  he  had 
found  a route  that  was  practicable. 

The  report  caused  an  echo  that  almost  alarmed  us.  It 
resounded,  reverberated  and  rolled  back  and  forth  from  wall 
to  wall,  up  and  down  the  canyon  for  miles,  and  still  came 
back  again  and  again  in  echoes  as  loud  as  the  first.  It  seemed 
to  linger  and  mutter  as  if  loth  to  leave  the  scene  of  its  birth. 
It  gradually  receded  and  finally,  after  what  seemed  to  us  a 
long  time,  it  began  to  grow  fainter  and  fainter  and  at  last 
died  out,  and  the  great  chasm  relapsed  again  into  its  virgin 
stillness. 

A few  minutes  later  a large  band  of  elk,  probably  a hundred 
and  fifty,  alarmed  by  the  report  of  Huffman’s  rifle,  broke  from 
their  cover  and  trotted  off  across  one  of  the  parks  in  the  bottom 
of  the  canyon.  It  was  a beautiful  sight.  We  watched  them  for 
several  minutes,  but  they  were  so  far  below  us  that  they  looked 
no  larger  than  sheep.  We~ started  on  our  descent,  and  it 
fairly  made  our  heads  swim  to  look  over  the  dizzy  heights  and 
through  the  narrow  defiles  that  we  were  to  pass.  But  by  slow 
and  patient  toiling,  picking  our  way  and  tacking  like  a ship 
sailing  against  the  wind,  we  finally  reached  the  foot  of  the 


JACK  LOADED  FOR  BEAR. 


118 


IN  THE  EIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


wall  in  about  two  hours  from  the  time  of  starting.  We  turned 
down  the  canyon,  and  as  we  passed  the  mouth  of  a smaller 
;anyon  that  puts  into  the  main  one,  we  saw  an  ugly  old 
'rizzly  on  the  side  hill  some  distance  away.  Jack  was  riding 
the  head  of  the  train,  and  the  moment  he  sighted  the  game 
v the  rowels  to  his  mule,  and  went  tearing  through  the 
■ ish  in  pursuit  of  it.  When  near  the  spot  where  the  bear 
jad  disappeared  in  the  brush,  he  dismounted,  threw  his  lariat 
around  a sappling  and  waltzed  bravely  forward.  As  he  neared 
a clump  of  pine  trees,  bruin  raised  on  his  haunches  to  size  up 
his  pursuer  before  commencing  to  make  a meal  off  him. 

Jack  brought  his  carbine  quickly  to  his  shoulder,  glanced 
nervously  along  the  barrel,  and  fired.  When  the  smoke  lifted 
he  saw  the  bear  coming  toward  him  at  a 2 : 1 7 gait,  his  mouth 
open  and  his,  eyes  glaring  vengeance.  Jack  thought  he  who 
shoots  and  runs  away  may  live  to  shoot  another — bear,  and 
accordingly  made  tracks  (about  two  to  the  rod)  for  tall 
timber.  He  had  not  more  than  thirty  yards  to  run  across  an 
open  space  to  a friendly  tree,  but  when  he  reached  it  old 
grizzly  was  so  uncomfortably  close  that  Jack  declared  after- 
ward he  could  feel  his  warm  breath  through  his  heavy  cavalry 
boots.  Jack  said  he  never  felt  so  pale  in  all  his  life  as  he 
did  when  he  was  reaching  for  that  tree,  and  that  he  never  saw 
a tree  seem  to  run  from  him  as  that  one  did.  But  he  finally 
reached  it,  and  swung  into  its  branches  just  in  the  nick  of 
time,  having  offered  up  his  hat  and  gun  to  his  hungry  foe  on 
the  way.  As  the  bear  reached  the  tree  and  halted  for  a mo- 
ment, a ball  from  Huffman’s  rifle  doubled  him  up,  and 
another  rolled  him  over. 

Jack  was  loth  to  come  down  from  his  perch  until  he  saw 
us  go  up  and  take  hold  of  Bruin,  to  convince  him  that  there 
was  no  further  danger. 

We  proceeded  down  the  canyon  about  three  miles  and 


LOADED  FOR  JACK. 


120 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


made  camp  at  three  o’clock.  Huffman  went  out  and  made 
some  views  of  the  grand  scenery  of  the  canyon.  Jack  went 
down  the  stream  a few  rods  and  caught  some  beautiful  moun- 
tain trout,  weighing  from  one  to  two  pounds  each. 

The  next  morning  we  made  an  early  start,  our  next  hard 
task  being  to  get  out  of  the  canyon.  We  went  out  by  what 
is  known  as  “ Huffman’s  Trail,”  our  artist  having  discovered 
it  some  two  or  three  years  ago,  when  with  Captain  Baldwin 
of  the  5th  Infantry,  and  a detachment  of  troops  exploring 
for  timber.  It  was  only  a game  trail  at  that  time  and  he 
piloted  the  command  over  it.  It  has  since  been  improved 
by  the  troops  at  Fort  Custer  and  is  now  a respectable  looking 
trail.  But  oh,  how  our  backs  and  legs  did  ache  before  we 
reached  the  top  of  that  terrible  wall  ! Three  long  hours  we 
labored  with  it,  and  when  we  had  at  last  scaled  it,  we  landed 
on  another  of  those  broad,  level  plateaus,  where  we  found  a 
good,  plain  wagon  road  leading  direct  to  Fort  Custer.  Our 
hard  work  was  at  last  over,  for  the  descent  from  here  was 
gradual  and  easy.  That  night  we  camped  on  the  bank  of  the 
Big  Horn  river,  fifteen  miles  below  old  Fort  C.  F.  Smith,  and 
two  days  later  landed  at  Fort  Custer.  From  here  we  visited 
the  Custer  battlefield,  where  sleeps  that  noble  little  band  who 
went  down  under  the  bloody  hands  of  Crazy  Horse,  Sitting 
Bull,  and  their  followers,  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  June,  1876. 
A handsome  granite  monument  has  been  erected  on  the 
ground,  by  order  of  the  Secretary  of  War,  and  on  it  are 
inscribed  the  names  of  General  Custer  and  all  those  who  fell 
with  him.  May  their  memory  ever  be  kept  green  in  the 
hearts  of  their  countrymen. 

The  only  event  of  interest  that  transpired  during  our  four 
days’  ride  down  the  Yellowstone  valley  from  Custer  to 
Keough  occurred  on  September  19th.  We  were  passing  over  a 
high  piece  of  tableland  overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Yellow- 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


stone  and  the  lower  part  of  that  xT  the  Big  Porcupine.  W 
had  heard  from  some  ranchmen  along  the  way  that  the 
buffalo  herd  was  at  this  time  grazing  about  fifteen  to  twenty 
miles  up  the  Big  Porcupine,  and  knowing  that  antelopes  are 
nearly  always  found  hanging  on  the  outskirts  of  every  large 
herd  of  bison,  we  were  on  the  lookout  for  them,  for  it  would 
not  be  at  all  strange  to  find  them  near  the  stage  trail  on 
which  we  were  traveling.  We  scanned  the  country  closely 
with  the  field  glass  and  were  finally  rewarded  by  seeing  a 
number  of  small  white  spots  on  the  dead  grass  away  up  the 
Porcupine,  that  seemed  to  be  moving.  We  rode  toward 
them  at  a lively  trot  for  perhaps  a mile  and  then  stopped  to 
reconnoitre  again.  From  this  point  we  could  plainly  distin- 
guish them,  though  they  looked  to  be  about  the  size  of  jack 
rabbits.  We  again  put  the  rowels  to  our  donkeys  and  rode 
rapidly  up  to  within  about  a mile  of  them,  when  we  picketed 
our  animals  in  a low  swale,  took  out  our  antelope  flag — a 
piece  of  scarlet  calico  about  half  a yard  square — attached  it 
to  the  end  of  my  wiping  stick,  and  were  ready  to  interview 
the  antelopes. 

I crawled  to  the  top  of  a ridge  within  plain  view  of  the 
game,  and  planted  my  flag.  The  breeze  spread  it  out,  kept 
it  fluttering,  and  it  soon  attracted  their  attention.  They 
were  then  near  the  bank  of  the  river,  grazing  quietly,  but 
this  bit  of  colored  rag  excited  their  curiosity  to  a degree  that 
rendered  them  restive,  anxious,  uneasy,  and  they  seemed  at 
once  to  be  seized  with  an  insatiable  desire  to  find  out  what  it 
was.  An  antelope  hac  as  much  curiosity  as  a woman,  and 
when  they  see  any  object  that  they  don’t  quite  understand, 
they  will  travel  miles  and  run  themselves  into  all  kinds  of 
danger  to  find  out  what  it  is.  They  have  been  known  to 
follow  an  emigrant  or  freight  wagon  with  a white  cover 
several  miles,  and  an  Indian  brings  them  within  reach  of  his 


122 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


arrow  by  standing  in  plain  view,  wrapped  in  his  red  blanket. 
Some  hunters  “flag”  them  by  lying  down  on  their  back, 
holding  one  foot  as  high  as  possible,  and  swinging  it  to  and 
fro.  A piece  of  bright  tin  or  a mirror  answers  the  same 
purpose  on  a clear  day.  Almost  any  conspicuous  or  strange 
looking  object  will  attract  them,  but  the  most  convenient,  as 
well  as  the  most  reliable  at  all  times,  is  the  little  red  flag, 
such  as  we  employed  in  this  instance. 

Huffman  went  to  the  top  of  another  ridge,  to  my  right, 
and  some  distance  in  advance,  and  Jack  crawled  into  a 
hollow  on  the  left,  and  well  in  advance,  we  three  forming  a 
half  circle,  into  which  it  was  our  intention  if  possible  to 
decoy  the  game.  When  they  first  discovered  our  flag  they 
moved  rapidly  toward  it,  sometimes  breaking  into  a trot,  but 
when  they  had  covered  half  the  distance  between  us  and 
their  starting  point,  they  began  to  grow  suspicious,  and 
stopped.  They  circled  around,  turned  back,  walked  a few 
steps,  and  then  paused  and  looked  back  at  the,  to  them, 
mysterious  apparition.  But  they  could  not  resist  its  magic 
influence.  Again  they  turned  and  came  toward  it,  stopped, 
and  gazed  curiously  at  it.  The  old  buck  who  led  the  herd 
stamped  impatiently,  as  if  annoyed  at  being  unable  to  solve 
the  mystery.  Then  they  walked  cautiously  toward  us  again, 
down  an  incline  into  a valley,  which  took  them  out  of  our 
sight,  and  out  of  sight  of  the  flag. 

This,  of  course,  rendered  them  still  more  impatient,  and 
when  they  again  came  in  sight  on  the  next  ridge,  they  were 
running.  But  as  soon  as  the  leader  caught  sight  of  the  flag 
he  stopped,  as  did  the  others  in  their  turn  when  they  reached 
the  top  of  the  ridge.  There  were  seven  in  the  herd,  two 
bucks,  three  does  and  two  fawns.  They  were  now  not  more 
than  a hundred  yards  from  me,  and  still  less  from  the  other 
two  of  our  party.  Their  position  was  everything  we  could 


FLAGGING  AN  ANTELOPE. 


124 


TN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS 


wish,  and  though  we  might  possibly  have  brought  them  a 
few  yards  nearer,  there  was  a possibility  of  their  scenting  us, 
even  across  the  wind,  which,  of  course,  we  had  arranged  to 
have  in  our  favor,  and  I decided  that  rather  than  run  the 
risk  of  this  and  the  consequent  stampede,  I would  shoot 
while  I had  a good  chance.  It  had  been  arranged  that  I was 


to  open  the  ball,  so  I drew  my  peep  and  globe  sights  down 
very  finely,  taking  the  white  breast  of  the  old  buck  for  my 
bull’s-eye,  and  pulled.  Huffman’s  Kennedy  and  Jack’s  car- 
bine paid  their  compliments  to  the  pretty  visitors  at  almost 
the  same  instant,  and  for  about  two  or  three  minutes  there- 
after we  fanned  them  about  as  vigorously  as  ever  a herd  got 


IN  THE  BIG  HORN  MOUNTAINS. 


125 


fanned  under  similar  circumstances.  The  air  was  full  of 
leaden  missiles ; the  dry  dust  raised  under  and  around  the 
fleeing  herd  as  it  does  when  a team  trots  over  a dusty  road. 
Clouds  of  smoke  hung  over  us,  and  the  distant  hills  echoed 
the  music  of  our  artillery  until  the  last  white  rump  dis- 
appeared in  the  cottonwoods  on  the  river  bank. 

When  the  smoke  of  battle  cleared  away  and  we  looked 
over  the  held,  we  found  that  we  had  not  burned  our  poAvder 
in  vain.  Five  of  the  little  fellows,  the  two  bucks  and  three 
does,  had  fallen  victims  to  their  curiosity.  The  two  fawns 
had  strangely  enough  escaped,  probably  only  because  they 
being  so  much  smaller  than  their  parents,  were  less  exposed. 

This  closed  our  hunting  for  the  time  being.  We  arrived 
at  Fort  Keough  on  the  twenty-first,  tired  and  hungry,  but 
feeling  well  pleased  with  the  result  of  our  long,  hard  ride. 

To  sportsmen  in  quest  of  large  game  I can  heartily  com- 
mend the  Big  Horn  country  as  the  very  place  for  them  to  go 
to.  Besides  our  own  experience,  I have  the  testimony  of  a 
number  of  old  frontiersmen  to  the  effect  that  it  is  one  of  the 
best  game  regions  in  the  whole  Northwest.  Dr.  J.  C.  Merrill, 
post  surgeon  at  Fort  Custer,  informs  me  .that  he  spent  two 
weeks  in  the  Big  Horn  mountains  last  June,  collecting 
ornithological  specimens,  and  that  during  that  time  he  saw  as 
many  as  five  or  six  bears  in  a day,  and  that  in  one  day  he  saw 
eleven.  He  states  that  deer,  elk,  mountain  sheep  and  other 
large  animals  were  equally  plentiful.  Several  others  with 
whom  I spoke  gave  testimony  to  the  same  effect. 

Persons  who  may  contemplate  a trip  to  the  Big  Horn 
mountains,  or  any  portion  of  the  great  Yellowstone  country, 
or  National  Park,  should  not  forget  that  the  most  direct  and 
speedy  route  to  that  country  from  the  East  and  South,  is  by 
way  of  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  & St.  Paul,  and  the  Northern 
Pacific  railroads. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 

MONTANA  A VERITABLE  WONDERLAND' — SPORT  FROM  THE  BAGGAGE 
CAR — ALKALI  BEDS  NEAR  CRYSTAL  SPRINGS  — “WHY  DID  YOUR 
AUNT  ELOPE?  ” — RESOLVED  TO  KILL  A BUFFALO  OR  GET  SCALPED  — 
JUDGE  SOUTHER  — IN  LUCK  — IN  THE  CUSTER  VALLEY  — “ YOUNG 
MAN’S  BUTTE’’ — CUSTER’S  LOOKOUT!  — PRAIRIE-DOGS  — BAD  LANDS 
— TOO  BAD  TO  BE  DESCRIBED. 

Ever  since  the  days  of  my  childhood  I have  longed  to 
see  the  great  plains  of  the  Far  West.  My  highest  ambition, 
my  fondest  dream,  has  been  to  hunt  the  buffalo  on  his  native 
prairies,  to  see  the  antelope,  the  Rocky  mountain  sheep,  the 
elk,  the  black-tail  deer  and  the  coyote  roam  at  will  in  their 
favorite  ranges.  I have  longed  to  see  the  famous  “ bad 
lands  ” of  which  authors,  journalists  and  travelers  have  told 
us  so  much ; which  artists  have  attempted  in  vain  to  portray 
on  canvas.  I have  longed  for  the  privilege  of  ascending  the 
tall  buttes,  and  viewing  with  one  sweep  of  the  eye  as  much 
territory  as  is  inclosed  within  the  boundary  lines  of  one  of 
our  eastern  states. 

All  these  desires  I have  at  last  been  permitted  to  realize, 
and  their  realization  has  far  exceeded  all  my  anticipations. 
These  western  territories,  at  least  Dakota  and  Montana,  the 
ones  I have  visited,  are  indeed  a veritable  wonderland. 

I left  Chicago  at  ten  a.m.  of  September  15th,  on  the  Chi- 
cago, Milwaukee  & St.  Paul  railroad,  arrived  at  St.  Paul  at  six 
a.m.  of  the  1 6th,  covering  a distance  of  409  miles  in  twenty 
hours,  and  enjoying  a comfortable  night’s  sleep  in  the 

meantime  in  one  of  this  company’s  commodious  and  well- 

126 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


127 


appointed  sleepers.  I spent  the  day  at  St.  Pa«l,  and 
improved  the  opportunity  of  taking  a good  look  at  this,  one 
of  the  liveliest  and  most  enterprising  cities  in  the  Northwest. 

At  twenty  minutes  past  six  p.m.  I boarded  the  west- 
bound train  on  the  Northern  Pacific  railroad,  disposed  myself 
in  the  sleeper  “Fargo,”  and  at  a seasonable  hour  wrapped 
the  drapery  of  my  couch  about  me,  and  laid  down  to  plea- 
sant dreams.  The  night  was  bright  with  the  light  of  the  full 
moon,  and  an  occasional  glance  through  the  windows  showed 
that  the  country  through  which  we  passed  during  the  night 
was  not  thickly  settled,  nor,  generally  speaking,  good  land. 
Most  of  the  soil  is  too  sandy  to  be  valuable  for  agricultural 
purposes,  though  there  are  occasional  tracts  of  a better 
quality,  and  on  these  there  are  good  farms.  After  passing 
Brainerd  we  enter  a good  country,  a rich  black  soil.  Here 
vegetation  grows  luxuriantly,  and  the  farmers  are  in  good 
circumstances.  At  Perham  we  enter  the  lake  region.  From 
here  to  Moorehead  the  country  is  dotted  all  over  with  lakes 
of  various  sizes.  Nearly  all  of  them  afford  good  fishing  and 
duck  shooting.  Wild  rice  grows  in  most  of  them,  and  ducks 
breed  numerously  all  through  this  part  of  the  state.  On 
nearly  every  lake  or  pond  we  passed  we  saw  large  numbers  of 
them.  They  are  very  tame.  They  pay  but  little  attention 
to  the  noise  of  the  passing  trains,  and  frequently  sat  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  track  while  we  passed.  Even  when  some 
of  the  passengers  shot  at  them  with  revolvers  they  would  not 
fly.  Conductor  Doyle  told  me  that  sportsmen  often  stand 
in  the  door  of  the  baggage  car  and  kill  large  numbers  of 
them  as  the  trains  pass  them.  Chicken  shooting  is  also  good 
all  along  the  line  of  this  road  from  Brainerd  west  to  its 
terminus.  Deer  are  found  in  goodly  numbers  in  the  timber 
belt  about  Detroit,  which  is  ninety-two  miles  west  of 
Brainerd. 


128 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


Near  Crystal  Springs,  a -station  one  hundred  and  thirty 
miles  west  of  Fargo,  we  saw  the  first  alkali  beds  one  meets 
with  on  the  line  of  this  road.  There  are  three  of  them,  cov- 
ering in  the  aggregate  probably  five  hundred  acres.  In  the 
wet  season  these  are  lakes  of  water,  but  as  the  dry,  hot  season 
progresses,  the  water  all  evaporates,  leaving  a deposit  of  pure 
alkali.  Within  eighty  rods  of  one  of  these  beds  is  a lake  of 
pure  fresh  water  in  which  there  is  no  particle  of  alkali. 

After  leaving  Jamestown  the  train  men  told  us  we  were 
likely  to  see  antelope  at  any  time,  that  they  were  frequently 
seen  within  a few  hundred  yards  of  the  track.  I strained  my 
eyes  all  day  long  looking  for  them,  but  did  not  catch  sight  of 
one.  Toward  night  a man  in  the  seat  just  in  front  of  me  looked 
out  of  his  window  and  shouted  “Antelope.”  I ventured  to 
ask  him  why  did  his  aunt  elope?  Were  the  old  folks  opposed 
to  the  match,  or  did  the  young  couple  simply  get  up  this  kind 
of  a scheme  on  account  of  the  romance  of  it  ? He  looked  at 
me  a minute  or  two  and  then  shook  his  head  and  sighed,  as 
if  to  say,  “Poor  fellow,  I’m  - sorry  for  you.”  Soon  after  this 
a crow  flew  along  opposite  the  train  for  a mile  or  two,  keep- 
ing just  even  with  the  car  we  were  in.  My  neighbor  in  front 
turned  around  and  asked  me  if  I knew  how  far  a crow  could 
fly  without  stopping  to  rest.  I said  no,  I was  not  well  up  in 
'■ Tow-nology,  and  was  always  getting  my  dates  mixed  up. 
He  looked  at  me  again  intently  for  a few  minutes  and  then 
went  forward  and  told  the  conductor  there  was  an  escaped 
lunatic  in  the  rear  coach,  and  he  ought  to  be  taken  into  the 
baggage  car  and  taken  care  of. 

There  were  four  Pawnee  Indians  on  the  tram  from  St. 

✓ 

Paul  to  Bismarck.  They  were  en  route  to  their  home,  or 
camp,  which  is  with  the  Rees,  near  Fort  Berthold.  They  told 
us  that  a roving  band  of  Chippewas  had  invaded  the  Rees 
rwj&rvation  a few  days  ago,  and  stolen  several  ponies.  A 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


129 


number  of  Rees  warriors  turned  out  and  followed  them,  over- 
took them  and  recaptured  the  - ponies,  killing  six  of  the 
Chippewas  and  losing  four  of  their  own  men.  The  Pawnees 
were  feeling  good  over  the  success  of  their  friends,  the  Rees, 
and  the  defeat  of  the  Ghippewas,  who  are  their  bitter  enemies. 
We  arrived  at  Bismarck  at  half-past  six  in  the  evening, 
twenty-four  hours  ride  from  St.  Paul,  and  as  there  was  no 
train  west  on  the  extension  until  next  morning,  I put  up  at 
the  Sheridan  House,  which  is  said  to  be  the  best  hotel  in  the 
place,  but  if  this  be  so  I pity  the  others.  After  supper  I took 
a walk  round  to  the  gun  store,  to  interview  the  proprietor 
thereof  as  to  game  out  along  the  extension.  He  told  me  1 
could  find  all  the  antelope  shooting  I wanted  in  the  Curlew 
valley,  about  twenty-five  miles  west.  This  was  just  what  1 
wanted, ^just  what  I had  come  for.  But  he  said  if  I wanted 
larger  game  I could  get  it ; that  a man  just  in  from  Green 
river,  one  hundred  miles  west,  reported  having  seen  several 
large  herds  of  buffaloes  only  forty  miles  south  of  that  station 
two  days  before.  Shades  of  Nimrod ! Could  it  be  possible 
that  I-  was  within  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  of  a herd  of 
buffaloes  ? And  I was  going  to  Green  river,  and  should  then 
be  only  forty  miles  from  them.  I resolved  at  once  to  kill  a 
buffalo  before  I returned  or  get  scalped  in  the  attempt.  But 
then  how  was  I to  make  that  forty  miles?  And  who  would  I 
get  to  go  with  me  for  company  and  to  help  keep  the  Indians 
off?  Well  he  said  I could  probably  hire  a man  at  Green 
river  to  take  me  down  there  on  a buckboard,  but  that  two  off 
us  couldn’t  do  much  toward  keeping  Indians  off  in  case  we 
should  run  across  a party  of  them.  Well,  I said,  I would  go 
for  the  buffaloes  any  way,  and  take  the  chances  on  meeting 
the  Indians. 

The  construction  train  was  to  leave  at  half-past  five  the 
next  morning  for  “end  of  track.”  That  was  the  way  my 


130 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


ticket  read,  and  that  was  where  I wanted  to  go,  so  I told  the 
clerk  to  call  me  when  the  lark  flew  down  from  his  roost.  At 
breakfast  the  next  morning  I had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
Judge  Henry  Souther,  of  Erie,  Pa.  There  was  only  us  two 
at  early  breakfast,  so  the  Judge  introduced  himself  to  me  and 
I introduced  myself  to  him.  He  asked  me  where  I was  going. 
I said  to  the  end  of  the  track,  if  not  farther.  I fired  the  same 
question  at  him,  and  he  said  to  the  end  of  the  track  and  from 
there  into  the  buffalo  country ; that  he  was  to  meet  a party  of 
friends  at  Mandan,  just  across  the  river,  who  had  everything 
cut  and  dried  for  a big  buffalo  hunt.  I asked  him  if  there 
was  any  chance  to  get  counted  into  that  party,  and  he  said  he 
was  only  a guest,  but  thought  he  could  arrange  it  for  me  all 
right.  This  was  more  good  news.  We  got  into  a box-car  and 
rode  up  to  the  ferry,  four  miles  above  town.  The  water  in 
the  “ Big  Muddy  ” is  at  a low  stage  at  this  season  of  the  year, 
and  the  ferry  had  great  difficulty  in  making  the  landings. 
However,  we  succeeded  in  getting  over,  were  switched  into 
the  train  on  the  other  side,  and  left  Mandan  at  ten  o’clock 
that  morning  for  the  front.  At  the  depot  Judge  Souther 
introduced  me  to  Mr.  James  Bellows,  of  the  firm  of  Walker, 
Bellows  & Co.,  railroad  contractors,  and  to  Mr.  B.  J.  Van 
Vleck,  their  cashier  and  paymaster,  who  had  made  up  the 
party  for  the  buffalo  hunt.  They  received  me  kindly  and 
gave  me  a cordial  invitation  to  join  their  party,  which  invita- 
tion I of  course  eagerly  and  thankfully  accepted.  There  was 
another  hunting  party  on  board  the  train  bound  for  the  buffalo 
country.  A man  from  Custer  City  had  been  to  Bismarck  and 
employed  four  men  at  thirty-five  dollars  a month  and  board, 
and  they  were  going  out  to  kill  buffaloes  for  the  skins.  They 
declined  to  tell  us  where  they  expected  to  find  the  herd,  but, 
as  will  be  seen  later  on,  we  found  it  before  they  did.  They 
got  off  the  train  at  Green  river. 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


131 


Thirty  miles  out  from  Mandan  we  entered  the  Curlew 
valley, — a very  handsome  country,  by  the  way,  which  will  one 
day  be  a rich  farming  district.  The  Curlew  river  is  a small, 
clear  stream  of  pure  water,  and  will  be  useful  for  stock  rais- 
ing. At  this  point  we  saw  our  first  antelope.  There  were 
two  of  them  grazing  on  a hillside  about  four  hundred  yards 
from  the  road.  As  the  train  came  in  sight  they  stood  and 
looked  at  it  for  a minute  and  then  turning  their  white  rumps 
to  us,  skurried  away  over  the  hills  out  of  sight.  From  this 
point  west  we  saw  them  almost  every  hour  in  the  day.  This 
Yalley  is  a famous  feeding-ground  for  them.  The  conductor 
informed  us  that  there  is  a herd  of  from  twenty-five  to  forty 
that  graze  here  all  the  time.  He  said  that  some  days  they 
tvould  all  be  together,  on  other  days  scattered  out  in  small 
herds.  Beavers  are  plentiful  along  this  stream  and  its  tribu- 
taries, and  since  the  railroad  has  been  built  they  are  making 
trouble  in  some  instances  by  cutting  away  the  piles  under 
bridges  and  culverts. 

Soon  after  entering  the  Curlew  valley  we  were  shown  a 
ranche  owned  by  a man  named  Warns,  who  has  lived  here 
about  ten  years.  His  house  stands  on  the  top  of  a high 
rocky  bluff  or  butte,  and  is  stoned  up  on  the  outside  in  such 
a way  as  to  render  it  bullet-proof ; in  fact,  it  is  a stockade,  or 
fort,  on  a small  scale.  It  is  said  that  the  Indians  have  tried 
several  times  to  kill  or  capture  him,  but  he  has  always  been 
able  to  hold  his  position  against  them.  He  refuses  to  say 
whether  he  has  ever  killed  any  Indians  or  not,  but  says  that 
if  General  Custer  were  alive  he  could  tell  where  several  of 
them  are  buried,  not  far  off.  He  is  said  to  have  been  a warm 
personal  friend  of  Custer’s. 

Near  Eagle’s  Nest  station  our  attention  was  called  to 
“ \ oung  Man’s  Butte,”  a high  peak,  so  named  from  the  fact 
Wat  some  years  ago  a young  lieutenant  of  the  army,  who 


132 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


was  killed  in  a fight  with  Indians  near  the  butte,  was  buried 
on  its  summit,  and  about  a year  later,  when  his  friends  from 
the  East  came  to  exhume  his  body  and  take  it  home  for 
burial,  it  was  found  to  be  completely  petrified.  Before  his 
death  he  weighed  but  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  and 
when  taken  up  weighed  three  hundred  and  ninety  pounds. 
About  two  miles  to  the  northwest  we  were  shown  another  tall 
butte,  the  tallest  in  all  this  section  of  country,  called  “ Cus- 
ter’s Lookout.”  It  is  said  that  the  lamented  commander  used, 
frequently,  during  his  Indian  campaigns,  to  ascend  this  peak, 
and  with  the  aid  of  his  field-glass  scan  the  surrounding  coun- 
try in  search  of  hostile  Indians. 

We  reached  Green  River,  one  hundred  miles  west  of  Bis- 
marck, at  two  o’clock  p.m.,  and  had  to  wait  there  for  a new 
train  to  be  made  up  to  take  us  to  the  front. 

On  Saturday,  the  18th,  our  party  having  some  business  to 
transact  at  Houston,  that  would  take  up  the  greater  part  of 
the  day,  I took  my  rifle  and  walked  out  four  or  five  miles  from 
camp  to  try  and  flag  an  antelope.  I saw  three  during  the  day, 
but  they  had  been  hunted  so  much  near  camp  that  they  knew 
what  a red  flag  meant,  and  would  not  come  near  it,  so  I did 
not  get  a shot.  I saw  two  carcasses  of  antelopes  that  had  been 
killed  by  hunters,  but  had  gone  so  far  after  being  hit  that  they 
had  not  been  recovered.  The  coyotes  had  eaten  all  the  flesh 
from  their  bones.  On  my  return  to  camp  I passed  a large 
prairie-dog  town.  While  I was  yet  half  a mile  away  the  dogs 
set  up  a lively  barking,  and  kept  it  up  until  I was  in  the 
midst  of  their  village.  I undertook  to  shoot  some  of  them, 
as  every  tenderfoot  does  who  goes  to  the  plains.  I had  read 
and  been  told  often  that  they  would  always  drop  into  their 
holes  when  shot,  but  thought  that  possibly  a large  caliber 
rifle- wll  with  a high  velocity  might  possibly  knock  them  away 
fiom  the  hole,  and  that  I might  thus  be  able  to  secure  a sped- 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


13:3 


men  for  mounting.  I killed  several,  out  although  the  force 
of  the  ball  did  knock  them  across  the  hole,  they  invariably 
fell  back  into  it,  and  I could  not  get  them.  I then  tried  shoot- 
ing into  the  dirt  just  under  them,  thinking  that  I might  be  able 
to  thus  kill,  or  at  least  paralyze  them  by  the  concussion,  and 
perhaps  throw  them  away  from  the  hole;  but  though  I could 
throw  them  up  a foot  or  more  into  the  air,  they  invariably 
tumbled  back  into  their  hole,  so  I gave  up  the  task  and  re- 
turned to  camp.  On  the  way  back  I found  some  very  fine 
specimens  of  petrified  wood,  of  which  there  are  great  quanti- 
ties all  through  this  region  of  country. 

Mr.  Bellows  had  arranged  to  go  over  the  line  of  the  road 
from  Houston  to  the  Yellowstone,  and  pay  off  his  men  who 
were  engaged  in  grading,  bridge  building,  etc.  After  com- 
pleting this  duty  we  were  to  leave  the  line  at  the  most  favor- 
able point,  and  strike  the  buffalo  with  as  little  delay  as  possi- 
ble. He  accordingly  provided  teams  at  Houston  to  take  us 
through.  They  consisted  of  two  buck  boards  and  a light 
platform-wagon.  On  these  were  loaded  our  tent,  blankets, 
provisions,  guns,  ammunition,  and  other  equipments  necessary 
for  the  expedition,  and  besides  comfortable  seats  were  pro- 
vided for  all  the  party  to  ride  on  them.  Three  extra  ponies 
were  led  for  use  when  we  should  reach  the  buffalo  country. 
In  addition  to  this  complete  and  comfortable  outfit,  General 
Merrill  sent  with  us  an  escort  of  five  men  and  a non-com- 
missioned officer,  as  a safeguard  against  roving  bands  of  hostile 
Indians,  with  whom  we  were  liable  to  meet  at  any  point  along 
the  line. 

Our  expedition  left  Houston  at  eight  o’clock  a.m.  of  the 
19th,  and  after  driving  five  miles  we  entered  the  famous 
“bad  lands,”  through  which  the  Little  Missouri  river  flows. 
An  accurate  description  of  these  bad  lands  — such  an  one 
as  will  present  to  the  eye  of  the  reader  a fair  picture  of 


134 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


them — is  one  of  the  impossibilities  of  the  English  language. 
Geologists  who  have  examined  them  have  various  theories  as 
to  their  origin ; but  the  most  common  one,  and  that  which 
appears  to  me  most  tangible,  is,  that  at  some  remote  period 
there  were  great  internal  convulsions  of  the  earth,  something 
of  the  nature  of  earthquake,  that,  owing  to  the  existence  of 
extensive  subterranean  caverns,  at  no  great  distance  below,  the 
crust  or  surface  gave  way  and  dropped,  to  distances  varying 
in  different  localities,  from  two  hundred  to  five  hundred  feet. 
The  bases  or  floors  of  these  caverns  must  have  been  very  un- 
even. Apparently  there  were,  in  places,  great  ledges  or  pillars 
of  granite  or  other  solid  formation,  towering  to  great  heights 
from  these  floors.  On  these  projections  this  falling  mass  must 
have  struck,  and  portions  of  it  were  held  in  suspense,  while 
the  remainder  passed  on  down  to  the  general  level  base  of 
the  caverns.  The  general  surface  passing  down  left  these  por- 
tions of  it  which  first  met  with  resistance  protruding  through, 
and  thus  were  formed  great  buttes,  peaks,  mounds  and 
pryamids,  of  all  sizes,  heights,  shapes  and  colors  that  the 
most  speculative  mind  could  possibly  imagine. 

Then,  either  before  or  after  these  great  convulsions,  inter- 
nal fires  have  raged,  perhaps  for  ages.  Rich  deposits  of  coal 
or  lignite  have  in  some  manner  become  ignited  and  burned 
away,  leaving  other  cavities  which  have  in  turn  been  filled  up 
by  the  sinking  crust.  There  are  many  distinct  and  well  de- 
fined craters,  long  since  extinct,  around  which  lie  masses  of 
lava,  scoria,  lime  and  baked  clay.  Some  of  the  buttes  where 
these  extinct  craters  are  found  are  covered  all  over  with  red 
clay,  baked  to  the  consistency  of  brick  or  pottery,  and  broken 
into  small  pieces,  looking  as  if  thousands  of  crates  of  pottery 
might  have  been  broken  up  and  piled  there  by  the  hand  of 
man.  Then,  since  these  scenes  were  enacted,  another  de- 
stroying element,  water,  has  wrought  its  ravages,  uninter- 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


135 


rupted  and  unimpeded,  perhaps  for  many  hundreds  of  years. 
Great  gulches,  canyons  and  ravines  are  cut  out  between  these 
buttes.  The  sides  of  the  buttes,  mounds  and  turrets  are 
washed  into  fantastic  shapes,  and  are  still  changing  in  shape 
and  appearance  every  year.  The  various  strata  of  each  butte 
are  plainly  visible,  owing  to  the  absence  of  vegetation  on 
their  sides,  and  we  see  here  a tall  butte  with  half-a-dozen  beds 
of  clay  of  various  colors  and  as  many  more  of  sand,  while 
within  fifty  feet  of  it  we  see  another  standing  lower  down  in 
the  valley,  whose  head  only  reaches  to  the  level  of  the  base 
of  this  one,  and  which  contains  the  very  same  strata  as  in  the 
one  just  mentioned.  The  average  level  of  these  bad  lands,  as 
above  stated,  is  from  two  to  five  hundred  feet  below  the 
adjacent  prairies ; and  as  one  stands  on  a ridge  of  the  prairie 
overlooking  a tract  of  these  lands  perhaps  thirty  to  fifty  miles 
in  circumference,  a scene  is  presented  to  the  eye  that  for 
grandeur  and  sublimity  cannot  be  excelled  on  this  continent, 
if  on  the  globe.  After  all  that  can  be  said  in  the  way  of 
describing  these  wonderful  bad  lands,  no  more  correct  idea 
of  them  can  be  given  than  that  conveyed  in  the  few  words  of 
General  Sully,  who,  when  asked  what  the  bad  lands  were 
like,  replied,  “They  are  simply  hell  with  the  fire  out.’’ 

I predict  that  when  the  Northern  Pacific  railroad  is  com- 
pleted through  to  the  Yellowstone,  people  will  come  here 
from  all  parts  of  the  civilized  world  simply  to  see  the  bad 
lands,  and  consider  themselves  richly  repaid  for  their  time 
and  trouble  when  they  have  beheld  them. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


LIFE  ON  TIIE  PLAINS. 

COURTESIES  OF  RAILROAD  AND  MILITARY  OFFICERS  — LIVING  ON  THE  FAT 
OF  THE  LAND — THE  CUISINE  OF  THE  PALMER  HOUSE  ECLIPSED — . 
SPORT  THAT  IS  SPORT  — A PET  FAWN  — A SIGHT  FOR  LANDSEER  — 
LIEUTENANT  M’COY — SPIKE-TAILED  REPUBLICANS' — A BANQUET  IN 
THE  WILDERNESS' — -BUZZING  A SENTINEL  — A YARN  OF  INDIAN  SCOUTS 
“SOLDIER  HEAP  DAMN  LAZY ! ” — BACK  TO  MY  VIRTUOUS  COUCH. 

Twelve  miles  west  of  Houston  we  halted  at  Lord, 
Fogarty  & Co’s  camp  and  were  there  joined  by  Mr.  John 
Fogarty,  Mr.  S.  J.  Hill,  and  their  driver,  John  Kelly.  This 
increased  our  number  to  seven  men  all  told,  and  completed 
our  party. 

We  reached  the  Little  Missouri  river  Sunday  evening  at 
six  o’clock,  and  were  warmly  welcomed  by  Colonel  Clough, 
chief  engineer  of  the  Missouri  division  of  the  Northern 
Pacific,  S.  M.  Keith,  resident  engineer,  R.  C.  Sattleyand  C. 
IL.  Hurley,  his  assistants,  and  by  Major  Comba,  Lieutenant 
Roberts,  Lieutenant  McCoy,  Surgeon  Miller,  Post  Trader 
Moore,  and  other  officers  of  Major  Comba’s  command  who 
are  stationed  here. 

These  railroad  and  military  officers  render  life  on  the 
plains  much  more  agreeable  than  we  in  the  States  might 
imagine  it  could  be  made.  The  railroad  people,  even  those 
who  live  in  tents  and  move  frequently  to  keep  up  with  their 
work,  provide  themselves  with  nearly  every  luxury  that  the 
Eastern  markets  afford.  Even  ripe  fruit,  fresh  oysters  and 
n.ew  vegetables  find  their  way  out  here  within  ten  days  after 

their  appearance  in  the  Eastern  markets.  Cows  are  kept  with 

136 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


137 


each  camp  and  fresh  butter  and  milk  greet  the  hungry  traveler 
as  he  sits  down  at  the  hospitable  board.  Then,  added  to  all 
these,  they  spread  before  you  game  of  a dozen  different  varie- 
ties and  all  cooked  to  a turn.  Buffalo  hump,  buffalo  tender 
loin,  elk  steak,  roast  loin  of  venison  (mule  deer  and  Virginia 
deer),  antelope  chops,  roast  duck  and  broiled  prairie-chicken 
are  a few  of  the  delicacies  with  which  our  palates  have  been 
tickled  since  we  came  west.  Good  cooks  are  employed  in 
these  camps,  the  best  that  can  be  had  in  the  Eastern  cities 
for  money,  and  in  many  instances  the  cuisine  equals  that  of 
the  Palmer  House  or  Grand  Pacific.  What  is  said  here  of 
the  railroad  people  is  generally  true  of  the  military.  Major 
Comba  and  his  command  are  living  in  comfortable  log 
houses,  floored  and  ceiled  with  dressed  pine  lumber.  The 
rooms  are  well  furnished.  Ingrain  and  Brussels  carpets,  wal- 
nut bedsteads,  bureaus,  dressing  cases,  cast  iron  cook  and 
heating  stoves  are  among  the  items  of  furniture  one  sees  in 
these  quarters. 

The  Little  Missouri  is  one  of  the  best  game  countries  on 
the  line  of  the  road ; that  is,  the  largest  variety  of  game  is 
found  there.  The  bad  lands  furnish  excellent  cover  for  large 
game.  There  are  timbered  coolies  all  along  the  river  and 
some  timber  along  the  banks  of  the  river  itself.  There  is 
good  grazing  and  plenty  of  freshwater  all  through  this  region, 
and  these  conditions  cause  the  game  to  congregate  here. 
These  bad  lands  are  a favorite  winter  resort  for  the  buffalo. 
In  the  deep  cuts  and  canyons  they  are  protected,  in  a great 
measure,  from  the  severity  of  the  weather  and  by  pawing  the 
snow  away  can  always  find  plenty  of  good  tender  grass.  At 
other  seasons,  however,  they  prefer  the  open  plains.  The 
Rocky  Mountain  sheep,  elk,  mule  deer,  Virginia  deer,  red 
fox,  beaver,  otter,  mink,  wolf  and  coyote  are  all  found  here 
in  large  numbers.  Four  mule  deer,  two  elk,  and  two  Rocky 


138 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


Mountain  sheep  were  killed  and  brought  into  Major  Comba’s 
camp  within  two  or  three  days  previous  to  the  time  of  our 
visit.  Two  cinnamon-bears  were  killed  here  winter,  and 
others  have  been  seen  lately. 

They  have  a pet  fawn  of  the  mule  deer  species  at  this  camp, 
that  was  caught  by  one  of  the  Indian  scouts  last  spring.  It  is 
now  about  half  grown,  and  is  very  handsome.  Its  neck,  back 
and  sides  are  a dark  lavender  color ; belly  and  legs  lighter, 
with  a white  spot  on  rump;  tail  white,  with  black  tip;  ears 
large;  eyes  dark,  lustrous,  and  very  expressive.  The  scouts 
caught  several  fawns  last  spring,  but  there  were-  no  cows  in 
camp  then,  and  no  milk  to  feed  them  on,  except  the  con- 
densed milk  (or  condemned,  as  the  boys  call  it),  and  all  the 
others  died.  This  one  was  brought  in  just  at  the  time  when 
the  first  cow  arrived  in  camp,  and  has  been  healthy  and 
happy  ever  since.  He  roams  at  will  about  the  camp,  and  is 
the  equal  in  rank  of  any  one  he  meets  with,  from  private 
up  to  post  commandant. 

Mr.  Keith  informed  us  that  one  day  last  fall,  soon  after  he 
established  his  present  camp,  a noble  old  buck  of  the  “big 
horn  ” species  came  to  the  top  of  a tall  bluff  that  stands  just 
back  of  his  camp,  some  two  hundred  feet  high,  and  remained 
for  some  minutes  looking  over  the  camp.  As  he  stood  there 
looking  down  with  silent  disdain  upon  his  natural  enemies, 
his  long  spiral  horns,  and  heavy,  well  developed  frame  out- 
lined against  the  clear  blue  sky,  Mr.  Keith  says  he  presented 
a picture  worthy  the  pencil  of  a landseer.  No  one  disturbed 
him,  and  after  he  had  made  a satisfactory  survey  of  the  camp, 
he  retired. 

A good  story  is  told  on  a couple  of  officers  of  this  camp 
and  two  or  three  men  who  were  out  hunting  a day  or  two 
before.  They  were  returning  to  camp  well  laden  with  veni- 
son, when  they  discovered  in  the  water,  a short  distance  ahead, 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


139 


four  wild  geese.  They  slipped  up  within  range,  and  opened 
fire  on  them.  After  a good  deal  of  shooting  they  succeeded 
in  bagging  all  four  of  them.  Each  member  of  the  party  was 
confident  that  he  had  killed  one  or  more  of  them,  and  that  it 
was  the  others  who  had  done  so  much  bad  shooting.  But  the 
next  day  a ranchman,  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  turned 
up  at  headquarters  and  demanded  pay  for  four  “pet”  wild 
geese  that  the  soldiers  had  killed  the  day  before,  and  that 
belonged  to  him.  Then  a change  came  o’er  the  spirit  of  their 
dreams,  and  each  man  was  confident  that  he  had  not  killed 
any  of  them,  that  it  was  the  “other  boys  ” that  had  done  the 
good  shooting  ; that  he  was  a little  off  that  day.  Finally,  by 
a preponderance  of  testimony,  the  geese,  and  likewise  the 
cigars,  were  saddled  onto  Lieutenant  McCoy,  for  it  was 
pretty  clearly  shown  that  he  had  killed  them  all.  The  event 
was  duly  celebrated  the  night  we  were  there,  in  an  extempo- 
raneous song  by  Mr.  Howard  Eaton,  of  Pennsylvania,  which 
brought  down  the  house,  and  some  more  cigars. 

The  Little  Missouri  bad  lands  are  also  rich  in  fossils,  petri- 
factions and  other  geological  specimens.  I saw  stumps  of 
trees  there  seven  or  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  two  to  three 
feet  high  above  the  ground,  that  were  perfectly  petrified,  and 
thus  preserved  intact.  In  some  cases  the  bark  remains  on 
them  as  when  in  the  full  vigor  of  life. 

The  roots  can  be  traced  into  the  ground  several  feet. 
There  are  numbers  of  these  scattered  along  the  line  of  the 
road,  and  many  of  them  will  eventually  be  dug  up,  shipped 
East,  and  placed  on  exhibition  in  museums,  parks,  and  priv- 
ate grounds.  I saw  many  fine  specimens  of  marine  fishes, 
mollusks,  crustaceans,  etc.,  that  the  engineers  and  others  had 
collected,  and  also  found  a number  myself,  which  I brought 
home,  and  shall  value  them  above  almost  any  others  in  my 
collection,  owing  to  the  fact  that  they  were  collected  while 


140 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


on  my  first  buffalo  hunt.  We  pulled  out  early  on  Monday 
morning,  the  20th,  and  a drive  of  five  miles  took  us  out  of 
the  bad  lands  and  on  to  a most  beautiful  tract  of  rich,  fertile 
prairie.  Just  on  the  margin  of  this  prairie  the  trail  passes 
through  a very  large  prairie-dog  town,  or  rather  “republic." 
It  covers  some  two  or  three  hundred  acres.  As  we  came  in 
sight  of  it  we  saw  a hundred  or  more  of  the  little  spike-tailed 
republicans  skurrying  hither  and  thither,  each  making  for  his 
own  house.  When  they  had  found  these  they  stopped,  sat 
up  on  their  haunches  and  commenced  barking  at  us.  Those 
nearest  the  trail  disappeared  as  we  approached  them,  but 
those  at  a little  distance  away  held  their  ground,  and  kept  up 
their  noise.  We  got  out  and  took  a few  shots  at  them.  Mr. 
Van  Vleck  killed  a very  large  one,  the  largest  we  saw  on  the 
trip,  and  probably  the  president  of  the  republic.  Fortunately, 
too,  the  force  of  the  ball  knocked  him  off  the  bank  where  he 
sat,  and  he  died  before  he  could  reach  his  hole,  so  we  recov- 
ered him.  I skinned  him,  and  have  sent  his  skin  to  Dr. 
Velie,  secretary  of  the  Chicago  Academy  of  Science,  to  be 
mounted. 

We  saw  large  numbers  of  antelopes  during  the  day,  but 
did  not  stop  to  shoot  at  them.  We  arrived  at  Camp  McIn- 
tosh, on  Beaver  creek,  about  sundown,  and  found  Major  Bell, 
Captain  Borden,  Lieutenant  Defries,  Surgeons  Black  and 
Ewing,  and  Post  Trader  Leasure  as  glad  to  see  us  as  if  we  had 
been  their  paymaster  and  his  escort. 

After  the  first  interchange  of  congratulations  we  inquired 
eagerly  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  buffalo,  and  received  in 
reply  the  welcome  news  that  they  were  in  the  vicinity  of 
Cabin  Creek,  about  fifty  miles  south  of  this  camp;  that  a 
scouting  party  had  lately  returned  from  that  locality  and 
reported  the  prairie  black  with  them  in  every  direction.  The 
Major  said  the  scouts  had  had  difficulty  in  getting  any  water 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


141 


in  that  region  fit  for  themselves  or  their  ponies  to  drink,  that 
it  was  all  so  strongly  charged  with  buffalo  manure  and  urine 
as  to  be  unfit  for  use.  He  said  furthermore  that  he  wanted 
some  fresh  meat  for  his  men,  and  would  be  glad  to  join  us  on 
the  hunt,  that  he  would  take  with  fiim  an  escort  of  ten  men 
and  a team  or  two  to  bring  in  the  meat.  By  the  time  these 
matters  were  arranged  supper  was  announced,  and  we  repaired 
to  the  Major’s  mess  tent,  where  a spread  awaited  us  that 
would  have  done  honor  to  a king’s  table.  There  was  venison 
steak,  antelope  steak,  broiled  buffalo  tenderloin,  Saratoga 
potatoes,  baked  sweet  potatoes,  stewed  tomatoes,  corn, 
vegetables,  fruit,  pastry,  desserts,  and  other  articles  too 
numerous  to  mention.  Imagine  six  hungry  men  arrayed 
before  such  a lay-out  as  this,  six  men  who  had  ridden  all  day 
across  the  plains  with  a September  wind  fanning  their  manly 
brows  — and  appetites;  six  men  whose  appetites  had  been 
sharpened  for  the  last  two  hours  by  such  news  as  we  had  been 
listening  to  ; and  these  six  men  being  ordered  by  their  host 
to  “pitch  in.”  But,  reader,  if  you  have  never  been  there, 
your  imagination,  however  vivid,  will  fail  to  picture  the  scene 
correctly.  The  onslaught  was  furious,  our  victory  was  com- 
plete, and  when  we  withdrew  from  that  hospitable  board  the 
table  looked  as  bare  as  the  plains  were  reported  to  be,  where 
the  great  herd  of  buffaloes  had  grazed  over  them. 

Supper  over,  we  retired  to  our  tent,  where  the  Major,  his 
subordinate  officers  and  Mr.  Leasure  again  joined  us.  They 
entertained  us  with  reminiscences  of  frontier  life,  Indian  war- 
fare, hunting  yarns,  etc.,  till  the  night  waned  into  the  wee 
sma’  hours.  Then  they  left  us,  and  we  retired  to  our  bunks. 
But  how  is  a man  to  sleep  under  such  circumstances,  with  his 
mind  full  of  such  fancies  as  filled  our  minds  that  night  ? 

Here  we  are,  away  out  in  Montana,  more  than  a thousand 
miles  from  the  stately  edifice  in  which  these  lines  will  be  put 


M2  TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 

in  type.  There  is  more  than  an  hour  difference  between  the 
time  at  this  point  and  Chicago.  We  must  wait  a whole  hour 
after  you  have  daylight  there  to-morrow  morning  ere  the  sun 
will  deign  to  smile  on  us  here.  When  we  first  see  him  here 
the  early  riser  in  Chicago  will  have  eaten  his  breakfast,  and 
will  be  on  his  way  down  town. 

Well,  there’s  no  use  lying  here — I can’t  sleep  — so  I turn 
out  and  take  a stroll  about  camp.  The  moon  is  at  the  full, 
and  in  this  clear,  rarified  western  atmosphere,  her  light  is  so 
strong  that  I can  even  see  to  read  the  smallest  type  in  a news- 
paper. The  vigilant  sentinel,  pacing  his  beat  in  front  of  our 
tent,  challenges  me  as  I approach  him,  in  a friendly  tone, 
however,  for  he  knows  by  my  meek  and  lowly  appearance 
that  I am  only  a tenderfoot  and  that  I have  no  blood  in  my 
eye.  I recall  some  of  my  long-forgotten  knowledge  of  mili- 
tary matters,  and  answer  him  in  a manner  that  proves  satis- 
factory, and  then  I proceed  to  buzz  him  awhile.  Among 
other  questions,  I ask  him  if  there  are  any  Indians  in  this 
part  of  the  country  now. 

“ No,”  said  he,  “ there  are  none  now.  There  was  a band 
of  five  Sioux  through  here  a week  ago.  I was  out  on  a scout 
with  an  officer  and  thirty  other  men,  going  over  toward 
Powder  river,  and  we  struck  their  trail  about  forty  miles  from 
here.  The  lieutenant  detailed  Sergeant  Deavron  and  ten  of 
us  boys  to  follow  that  trail  while  he  continued  on  his  course. 
Two  Cheyenne  scouts  were  sent  with  us  to  trail  them.  They 
laid  down  alongside  of  their  ponies,  their  heads  as  near  the 
ground  as  they  could  get  them,  in  order  to  be  able  to  see  the 
trail,  and  struck  out  at  a lively  trot.  This  was  in  the  morn- 
ing. All  day  long  they  followed  the  trail  without  difficulty, 
while  for  the  greater  portion  of  the  time  we  could  see  nothing 
of  it.  Whenever  we  came  to  the  top  of  a ridge  the  scouts 
would  take  the  field  glass  with  which  they  had  been  provided, 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


143 


and  scan  the  country  carefully  as  far  as  they  could  see.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  they  spotted  the  Sioux  crossing  over  a ridge 
about  ten  miles  away.  We  could  barely  see  them  with  the 
aid  of  the  glass,  and  would  not  have  guessed  them  to  be 
Indians,  but  our  scouts  shouted  ‘ Sioux,  Sioux,  five  Sioux ! ’ 
We  had  ridden  hard  since  morning,  our  horses  were  tired,  and 
the  sergeant  ordered  a halt  here  for  a rest  and  lunch,  but  our 
Indians  wouldn’t  have  it.  They  kept  shouting,  ‘ Sioux,  Sioux, 
soldier  heap  damn  lazy  ! Come  on  ! ’ So  the  sergeant  told, 
them  to  go  and  we  would  follow  them.  Then  they  patted  us 
on  the  backs  and  said,  ‘ Soldier  heap  bully;  come  on.’  At 
this  they  dropped  the  trail  and  made  a bee  line  for  the  top 
of  the  hill  where  we  had  seen  the  Sioux.  We  rode  this  ten 
miles  under  the  spur,  took  up  the  trail  again  on  the  hill,  and 
followed  it  into  a timbered  ravine.  The  scouts  now  told  us 
that  we  were  close  to  them,  and  that  they  had  not  yet  see  us. 
We  rode  cautiously  and  carried  our  carbines  at  a “ready.” 
Finally  we  sighted  them  at  about  five  hundred  yards,  and 
before  they  knew  that  they  were  followed  at  all  we  gave  them 
a volley,  killing  one  of  them  and  wounding  two  others. 

They  returned  the  fire  and  then  skipped  out.  As  our 
horses  were  badly  worn  out  with  the  long  chase,  and  their 
ponies  comparatively  fresh,  we  knew  it  was  useless  to  follow 
them.  When  we  fired  the  volley  our  scouts  disappeared. 
We  didn’t  see  which  way  they  went  nor  how  they  got  out  of 
sight  so  quick ; but  in  about  half  an  hour  they  returned  with 
three  ponies  that  they  had  captured  from  the  Sioux.  One 
had  probably  belonged  to  the  Indian  we  killed,  and  they  had 
been  leading  the  other  two.  They  then  went  for  the  dead 
Indian’s  scalp,  but  the  sergeant  wouldn’t  let  them  scalp  him. 
After  grazing  our  horses  a few  minutes  and  making  coffee,  we 
started  back  to  the  command.  Pretty  soon  our  scouts  were 
missing  again  but  that  night  they  turned  up  and  one  of  them 


144 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


had  the  dead  Sioux’s  scalp.  They  also  had  about  a dozen 
little  scalps  that  they  had  cut  off,  after  they  got  the  main  one, 
and  these  they  gave  to  us  boys. 

It  was  now  about  time  for  the  relief  guard  and  the  senti- 
nel said  I must  retire  from  his  beat.  Besides,  he  said,  I had 
better  go  to  bed  and  sleep  if  I were  going  on  a buffalo  hunt 
to-morrow.  So  I bade  him  good-bye,  and  after  taking  a 
further  stroll  about  the  city  of  tents  for  half  an  hour,  crawled 
into  my  blankers  and  went  to  sleep. 

I was  out  again  at  daylight,  walked  about  camp  and 
waited  patiently  for  nearly  an  hour  ere  the  welcome  sound  of 
reveille  rang  out  on  the  clear  morning  air.  Then  all  was 
bustle  about  the  camp.  The  men  turned  out  to  roll  call,  then 
stable  call  sounded  and  they  went  forth  to  feed  and  groom 
their  horses.  The  civilians  of  our  party  now  began  to  stir 
out  and  from  this  on  I had  company.  The  morning  was 
clear,  cold  and  frosty;  just  such  a morning  as  sends  the  blood 
tingling  through  the  veins  of  the  sportsman  if  he  rises  in 
time  to  get  the  benefit  of  it. 

Our  plans  were  made  late  the  previous  night — after  tattoo 
had  sounded  and  the  men  had  retired ; but  the  detail  for  our 
escort  was  announced  early  that  morning  and  the  busy  notes 
of  preparation  were  heard  throughout  the  camp  as  the  men 
packed  the  Major’s  tents,  mess  chest,  cook  stove,  cooking 
utensils,  provisions,  etc.,  into  the  wagon.  They  packed  their 
own  blankets  and  shelter  tents,  filled  their  haversacks,  car- 
tridge belts,  and,  in  short,  made  every  necessary  preparation 
for  a five  days’  scout.  It  took  a greater  portion  of  the  fore- 
noon to  fit  out  the  expedition,  but  when  we  did  move  it  was 
in  a style  that  the  general  of  the  army,  had  he  been  a mem- 
ber of  the  party,  would  have  felt  proud  of. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


AFTER  THE  BUFFALOES. 

WE  START  WELL  EQUIPPED  — CAMP  AT  BEAVER  CREEK  — THE  ANTELOPE 

HARD  TO  KILL — DR.  BLACK  “ALL  BROKE  UP  ” — TAKES  HIS  SUPPER 

STANDING  — GOOD  MORNING’S  SPORT — A BREAKFAST  FIT  FOR  THE 
•GODS — BUFFALOES  AT  LAST  — “LET  THEM  HAVE  IT” — THE 

BUFFALO  TAKES  A GOOD  DEAL  OF  KILLING — SHARP’S  RIFLES. 

Major  Bell,  mounted  on  his  large  handsome  iron-gray 
charger,  led  the  van,  followed  by  Sergeant  Deavron,  Corporal 
Brown  and  ten  picked  men  from  Company  F,  of  the  famous 
Seventh  Cavalry.  Their  horses  are  all  fine  large  animals,  in 
good  condition,  high  spirits,  perfectly  groomed  and  capari- 
soned. The  men  are  armed  with  the  improved  Springfield 
carbine.  Our  party  on  the  buck-boards  and  spring  wagon 
followed  the  escort,  and  the  military  wagons  brought  up  the 
rear. 

Each  member  of  our  party  carried  a Sharp’s  rifle.  Several 
of  us  had  large  navy  revolvers  for  use  when  we  should  choose 
to  hunt  our  buffalo  on  horseback,  and  Judge  Souther  carried  a 
Parker  gun  which  came  in  good  play  several  times,  in  bagging 
a few  ducks  and  sharp-tail  grouse,  by  way  of  variety. 

When  we  got  about  five  miles  from  camp  the  major  through 
out  flankers  or  hunters  to  ride  a mile  or  two  to  right  and  left 
of  the  trail  in  search  of  antelopes.  Three  of  our  party 
mounted  their  ponies  and  rode  on  the  left  flank  with  Major 
Bell.  They  saw  several  antelopes  during  the  day,  but  they 
were  wild,  having  been  hunted  so  much  near  the  trail,  and  it 
was  difficult  to  get  a shot  at  them. 

We  who  kept  the  trail  met  two  different  parties  during  the 
10  145 


146 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


afternoon  coming  in  from  the  railroad  work  on  the  Yellow- 
stone river,  both  of  whom  reported  having  seen  several  small 
herds  of  buffaloes  along  the  trail  in  the  forenoon.  They 
reported  one  herd  within  fifteen  miles  of  where  we  then  were, 
and  thought  we  would  be  very  likely  to  strike  them  before 
night.  But  night  drew  on  and  no  buffaloes  had  been  sighted 
by  our  horsemen,  nor  had  they  even  succeeded  in  bagging  an 
antelope.  We  began  to  think  we  should  be  without  fresh  meat 
for  supper  and  breakfast,  but  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  behind 
the  hills  we  heard  a shot  away  off  to  the  right,  and  ten  minutes 
later  the  Major  came  up  to  the  column  with  a fine  young 
antelope  swinging  from  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

We  went  into  camp  at  the  head  of  Beaver  Creek,  twenty- 
seven  miles  from  camp  McIntosh,  at  six  o’clock,  put  up  our 
tents,  our  Sibley  heating  stoves  in  them,  collected  a supply  of 
dry  wood,  and  made  fires  that  heated  the  large  wall  tents  as 
hot  as  we  wanted  them.  While  we  were  doing  this,  Mugler, 
the  Major’s  cook,  had  set  up  his  cookstove  and  prepared  a 
supper  that  made  us  all  feel  glad  we  enlisted.  As  we  partook 
of  the  juicy  and  delicate  antelope  steak  the  Major  spoke  of 
the  great  amount  of  vitality  this  animal  possesses  — of  the 
amount  of  shooting  it  takes  to  kill  it.  He  said  he  once  shot 
one  through  the  heart  and  it  ran  a hundred  yards  before  it 
fell ; that  he  cut  it  open  and  examined  its  heart,  and  the 
bullet  had  passed  directly  through  the  center  of  it,  tearing  a 
hole  nearly  an  inch  in  diameter.  He  said  he  shot  another 
one  that  stood  with  its  tail  toward  him.  The  ball  cut  off  one 
hind  leg  and  then  entered  its  flank,  cutting  a long  slit  and 
letting  a large  portion  of  its  entrails  out,  ranged  forward,  and 
cut  its  liver  all  to  pieces  ; that  after  all  this  it  ran  two  hundred 
yards,  and  that  nearly  as  fast  as  his  horse  could  run.  He  says 
he  considers  them  the  hardest  animal  to  kill  that  there  is  on 
the  plains,  except  the  buffalo  and  grizzly. 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


147 


The  only  man  in  the  party  that  is  not  happy  to-night  is 
Dr.  Black.  He  has  been  riding  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  a 
very  high-spirited  horse,  who  insists  on  traveling  all  the  time 
in  a trot  or  canter.  The  Doctor  has  lately  entered  the  service, 
fresh  from  college,  and  is  not  much  of  a horseman  at  best. 
He  has  whipped  and  spurred  this  noble  animal  ever  since  we  left 
camp,  trying  to  tame  him  down  to  a walk,  and  of  course  the 
more  the  Doctor  plies  his  whip  and  spur,  the  more  the  horse 
won’t  walk.  Moreover,  he  trots  very  roughly;  at  each  step 
he  throws  the  Doctor  about  eighteen  inches  into  the  air,  and 
then  meets  him  half  way  as  he  comes  down.  The  result  may 
be  easily  imagined.  The  Doctor  is  “all  broke  up,”  and  says 
he  is  sorry  he  enlisted.  He  takes  his  supper  standing 
to-night,  and  wants  to  trade  places  with  the  driver  of  our 
spring  wagon  for  to-morrow. 

As  the  first  streak  of  daylight  appeared  in  the  east  on 
Wednesday  morning,  September  22d,  I took  the  Judge’s  gun 
and  went  down  along  the  creek  to  shoot  a few  ducks,  while 
Mugler  prepared  breakfast.  I bagged  six,  five  mallards  and 
a teal.  I also  killed  a young,  half-grown  beaver,  and  saw 
several  others,  but  could  not  get  a shot  at  them.  This  creek 
is  the  home  of  large  numbers  of  them.  There  are  two  new 
dams  within  a few  rods  of  where  we  camped,  and  they  may 
be  found  at  short  intervals  all  along  the  stream.  It  would  be 
a good  field  for  a trapper  this  coming  winter.  I returned  to 
camp  at  a little  after  sunrise,  and  we  partook  of  a breakfast 
prepared  by  Mugler’s  skilful  hands,  and  such  as  one  rarely 
sits  down  to  in  camp.  Imagine  a breakfast  out  here  on  the 
plains,  and  while  on  the  march,  consisting  of  hot  biscuits, 
baked  potatoes,  venison  and  antelope  steak,  apple  sauce, 
baked  sweet  potatoes,  and  coffee  with  real  cream  in  it.  And 
yet  such  was  our  bill  of  fare  on  this  occasion,  and  with  suit- 
able variations  at  every  meal  during  the  whole  time  we  were  out. 


148 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


Just  as  we  finished  breakfasting  an  antelope  appeared  on 
top  of  a ridge  half  a mile  away,  and  one  of  the  “ 7th  ” boys 
picked  up  his  carbine,  ran  to  the  brow  of  another  ridge 
within  about  two  hundred  yards,  fired,  and  knocked  it  down. 
He  started  to  go  up  to  it,  when  it  recovered  from  the  shock 
sufficiently  to  get  up  and  run.  He  fired  two  more  shots  at  it 
as  it  ran,  one  of  which  hit  it,  but  still  not  fatally.  As  he  had 
only  taken  three  cartridges  with  him,  he  was  compelled  to 
give  up  the  game  and  return  to  camp,  but  as  the  animal  had 
taken  the  course  upon  which  our  route  lay,  we  overhauled  him 
soon  after  leaving  camp,  and  a ball  from  the  Major’s  rifle 
finished  him. 

While  we  were  striking  tents  and  packing  up  preparatory 
to  the  start,  we  saw  a lone  horseman  coming  from  the  east. 
It  proved  to  be  Mr.  Hill,  who  had  become  separated  from  us 
the  evening  previous  while  on  the  march.  He  had  been 
unable  to  find  us  again  before  night  set  in,  and  spent  the 
night  on  the  prairie,  alone,  with  the  broad  canopy  of  heaven 
for  a tent,  and  the  cold,  cold  ground  for  a bed.  He  said 
there  was  one  advantage  in  staying  out  all  night  — that  a 
fellow  was  sure  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning,  but  he  pre- 
ferred to  camp  with  the  other  boys  in  future,  even  if  he  didn’t 
wake  up  quite  so  early. 

We  resumed  the  march  at  eight  o’clock  ; Major  Bell  threw 
out  scouts  to  right,  left,  and  in  front,  with  instructions  to 
cover  as  much  ground  as  possible,  and  whenever  they  sighted 
buffalo  to  come  in  and  report  to  him  at  once.  We  moved 
along  at  a good  gait  until  half-past  ten  o’clock,  when  we  saw 
the  half-breed  scout  and  one  of  the  soldiers  on  top  of  a tall 
butte,  about  two  miles  ahead  of  us.  They  had  stopped  and 
dismounted.  We  knew  at  once  that  they  had  sighted  game, 
and  we  were  in  a fever  of  excitement  to  know  what  M'as  ahead. 
They  mounted,  rode  back  to  us,  and  imparted  the  welcome 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


14y 

news  that  at  last  we  had  reached  the  buffaloes ! They  said  there 
were  five  very  large  ones  grazing  in  a valley  just  beyond  the 
butte  where  they  had  halted,  and  that  the  lay  of  the  ground 
was  such  as  to  give  us  every  advantage  in  approaching  them. 

We  plied  spur  and  whip,  and  in  a few  minutes  were  as 
near  the  quarry  as  it  was  safe  to  go  with  the  teams.  Here  we 
dismounted,  gave  the  teams  in  charge  of  Kelly,  and  the  sad- 
dle horses  in  charge  of  a man  detailed  to  hold  them.  Major 
Bell  then  crawled  to  the  top  of  an  adjacent  ridge  to  recon- 
noiter.  When  he  returned  he  said  we  were  within  two  hun- 
dred yards  of  them,  and  that  they  had  not  yet  discovered  us ; 
that  we  were  squarely  to  leeward  of  them,  and  that  a friendly 
rise  of  ground  near  them  would  enable  us  to  shorten  the  dis- 
tance by  at  least  one  half  before  they  could  possibly  discover 
us. 

We  then  formed  in  line  and  started  for  the  top  of  this 
ridge.  We  moved  cautiously,  slowly,  silently.  No  one 
spoke  above  a whisper.  The  soldiers  held  their  triggers  back 
while  cocking  their  carbines,  so  as  to  perform  the  operation 
in  perfect  silence.  Those  of  us  who  had  hammerless  rifles 
pulled  the  safety  triggers  back  so  carefully  that  they  gave  forth 
no  sound. 

We  are  now  so  near  the  apex  of  the  ridge  it  is  necessary 
to  stoop  low  to  conceal  ourselves  from  the  game ; but  still  we 
press  silently,  breathlessly  forward.  Now  we  are  as  near  the 
summit  as  we  dare  go  without  giving  the  alarm.  We  pause, 
raise  our  heads,  and  peer  cautiously  over.  And  what  a sub- 
lime, what  a magnificent  sight  greets  our  eager  eyes  ! There, 
down  in  that  little  swale,  within  less  than  a hundred  yards  of 
us,  stand  five  of  as  noble  specimens  of  the  American  bison  as 
were  ever  seen  upon  these  plains.  They  are  all  large  bulls,  old 
patriarchs  of  the  herd,  and  they  have  not  yet  seen,  heard  or 
scented  us.  They  are  quietly  grazing,  totally  unconscious  of 


150 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


danger.  Little  do  they  dream  that  within  the  next  thirty 
seconds  each  one  of  them  is  to  feel  half  a dozen  leaden  mes- 
sengers of  death  crashing  through  his  majestic  frame.  And 
still  we  pause.  We  are  unwilling  to  break  the  spell — to  de- 
stroy this  grand  picture — this  picture  to  look  upon  which  men 
would  come  and  have  come  from  all  parts  of  the  civilized 
world.  Yes,  to  gaze  but  for  a moment  on  this  picture — on 
these  grand  old  bisons,  roaming  at  will  here  upon  their  native 
heaths,  would  well  repay  a trip  from  the  remotest  part  of 
Europe  or  the  Orient.  It  is  the  event  of  a lifetime.  It  is  a 
privilege  for  which  men  would  give  hundreds,  yes,  thousands  of 
dollars,  and  yet  it  is  a privilege  which  but  one  man  in  a 
thousand  ever  enjoys. 

But  our  reverie  is  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  our  leader: 
“ Let  them  have  it,”  he  says,  and  the  response  is  spoken  by 
our  rifles.  Spat,  spat,  spat,  go  the  bullets  into  the  huge  car- 
casses of  the  buffaloes,  at  square  broadside,  and  they  break 
into  their  heavy,  rolling  run.  They  are  all  hit,  and  perhaps 
fatally  ; but  he  who  looks  to  see  a buffalo  fall  from  the  first 
shot,  or  even  the  first  volley,  is  sure  to  be  disappointed.  We 
slip  in  fresh  cartridges  and  give  them  another  round,  and  an- 
other, and  another,  until  they  are  out  of  range.  Then  our 
horsemen  mount  and  pursue  them.  One  of  the  wounded 
animals  turns  out  of  the  file  and  circles  away  to  the  right. 
The  great  gouts  of  blood  issuing  from  his  nostrils,  tell  us 
plainly  that  he  has  been  shot  through  the  lungs,  and  cannot 
go  far.  After  running,  perhaps  a quarter  of  a mile,  he  stops, 
and  a bullet  from  Mr.  Van  Vleck’s  rifle  finishes  him.  Major 
Bell,  with  characteristic  courtesy,  orders  four  of  his  men  to 
pursue  the  other  wounded  animals  and  not  to  shoot  at  them, 
but  to  turn  them  back,  if  possible,  that  we,  his  guests,  may 
further  enjoy  the  sport.  But  they  are  so  thoroughly  panic- 
stricken  that,  although  the  gallant  troopers  ride  directly 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


151 


alongside  of  and  around  them,  firing  their  revolvers  in  the 
air  and  shouting,  the  infuriated  animals  refuse  to  change  their 
course,  and  in  a few  minutes  are  miles  away.  And  thus  ends 
our  first  set-to  with  the  buffalo. 

The  reader  will  justly  wonder  that  we  did  not  kill  more  of 
them,  that  we  allowed  any  of  them  to  escape.  We,  who  had 
never  before  hunted  buffaloes,  were  at  first  surprised  our- 
selves ; but  when  we  remembered  what  we  had  read  and  been 
told  about  the  amount  of  shooting  necessary  to  bring  down  a 
buffalo,  we  marveled  no  longer.  Subsequent  experience 
proved  that  it  takes,  on  an  average,  five  to  ten  bullets  to  stop 
one  within  a reasonable  distance,  depending  on  the  portion  of 
the  body  through  which  the  -balls  pass.  Of  course,  one  ball 
through  almost  any  part  of  the  trunk  of  the  animal  will  cause 
death  eventually,  but  the  great  amount  of  vitality  he  possesses 
will  enable  him  to  travel  miles  ere  he  succumbs.  That  we 
did  not  kill  the  others  dead  in  their  tracks  was  not  owing  to 
bad  shooting.  We  could  plainly  hear  our  bullets  strike  the 
animals,  and  see  them  flinch  as  they  felt  the  effect  of  the  shot. 
The  soldiers  who  pursued  them  said  they  saw  blood  streaming 
from  every  one  of  them  when  riding  within  a few  feet  of  them 
and  they  had  no  doubt  but  that  every  one  of  them  would  die 
before  night. 

The  one  we  secured  had  nine  bullet  holes  in  him,  and  the 
majority  of  the  balls  had  passed  entirely  through  him,  which 
fact  spoke  highly  of  the  hard-hitting  qualities  of  our  Sharp’s 
and  Springfield  rifles.  The  reader  will  pardon  me  for  digress- 
ing here  to  state  for  the  information  of  those  concerned,  that 
a large  majority  of  the  frontiersmen  I met  with — in  fact, 
nearly  all  of  them- — used  Sharp’s  rifles.  I saw  probably  a 
hundred  of  these  in  my  travels,  and  only  three  or  four  of  any 
other  kind.  I questioned  a great  many  of  the  men  who  use 
them,  as  to  their  effectiveness  and  adaptation  to  frontier  use, 


152 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


and  they  all  pronounce  them  the  best  arm  in  use,  all  things 
considered,  for  that  purpose.  Nearly  all  now  in  use  are  of 
the  new  hammerless  model,  forty-five  caliber.  The  troops, 
of  course,  are  armed  with  the  improved  Springfield,  and  it  is 
well  adapted  to  both  military  and  sporting  purposes. 

After  cutting  up  the  bull  we  had  killed  and  taking  out 
such  portions  of  the  meat  as  were  edible,  we  resumed  our 
way.  A few  miles  from  this  point  we  entered  the  Cabin  creek 
valley.  The  soil  here  is  so  strongly  impregnated  with  alkali 
as  to  give  it  much  of  the  appearance  of  ashes.  It  is  said  that 
in  the  wet  season  the  decomposition  of  chemical  matter  in  the 
soil  renders  it  so  soft  and  slushy  as  to  be  almost  impassable  for 
man  or  beast.  We  found  here  some  good  specimens  of  mica, 
gypsum  and  other  crystals.  The  water  in  Cabin  creek  is 
strongly  charged  with  alkali,  but  not  so  much  so  as  to  render  it 
wholly  unfit  for  use.  We  were  very  thirsty  when  we  reached 
it  and  drank  heartily  of  it  without  any  serious  consequences. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


TWO  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  BUFFALOES. 

SMALL  HERDS  OF  BUFFALOES — THE  GREAT  HERD — AN  EARLY  MORNING 
HUNT— “ OLD  RELIABLE  ” CHARGES  A BUFFALO — MY  FIRST  BUFFALO 
LIES  DEAD  AT  MY  FEET  — BACK  TO  CAMP — CORPORAL  BROWN 
COUNSELS  CAUTION  — STARTLED  BY  WHITE  MEN  — MY  BUFFALO 
WEIGHS  FOURTEEN  HUNDRED  POUNDS. 

Just  Before  reaching  the  creek  we  struck  the  Keough  stage 
trail,  a tolerably  fair  road  leading  from  Bismarck  to  Fort 
Keough.  There  is  a line  of  stages,  so  called,  buckboards  in 
fact,  running  between  these  two  points,  which  carry  the  mail, 
express  matter,  and  any  passengers  who  have  courage  enough 
to  risk  their  scalps  in  making  the  trip.  They  run  every  day  so 
that  Fort  Keough,  Miles  City,  and  other  towns  situated  from' 
three  to  five  hundred  miles  west  of  Bismarck,  get  daily  mails 
when  the  weather  or  Indians  don’t  interfere.  During  the 
winter,  however,  the  line  is  frequently  impassable  for  weeks 
at  a time,  and  at  other  seasons  of  the  year  much  trouble  is 
experienced  from  the  Indians.  Since  the  opening  of  the  line 
several  drivers  and  station  keepers  and  a few  passengers  have 
been  killed  and  a good  deal  of  stock  stolen. 

There  are  feeding  stations  every  seventeen  miles  and 
relay  stations  every  thirty-four  miles  along  the  line  where 
fresh  ponies  are  supplied.  These  stations  consist  merely  of  a 
log  cabin,  or  “shack,”  a stable  and  a stack  of  hay.  The 
garrison  consists  of  one,  and  in  some  cases  two  men,  and  the 
armament  consists  of  a rifle  for  each  man.  The  passenger 
tariff  on  this  line  is  fifteen  cents  a mile  and  the  passenger 
runs  his  own  risk  of  being  scalped.  We  went  west  on  this 

153 


154 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


trail  from"  Cabin  Creek  and  at  three  o’clock  p.m.  reached 
Pennell  station,  about  225  miles  west  of  Bismarck,  and  went 
into  camp. 

We  were  then  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  several  small 
herds  of  buffaloes  and  we  broke  up  into  small  parties  and  went 
in  various  directions  in  search  of  them.  Major  Bell  went 
west,  Mr.  Bellows,  Judge  Souther  and  Messrs.  Fogarty,  Van 
Vleck  and  Hill  went  north,  parties  of  soldiers  in  various 
directions,  and  I went  south.  After  walking  about  two  miles 
I reached  the  top  of  a high  ridge  that  commanded  a fine  view 
of  a vast  stretch  of  country  to  the  south  and  west.  At  a dis- 
tance of  two  miles  from  where  I stood  I saw  two  herds,  one 
of  about  thirty  and  the  other  of  seventy-five  to  eighty  ; but 
the  sun  was  then  setting  and  I knew  that  before  I could  reach 
them  it  would  be  too  dark  to  see  to  shoot  accurately,  so  I 
reluctantly  returned  to  camp  where  I arrived  soon  after  dark. 

My  friends  had  reached  camp  before  me,  and  reported 
having  had  grand  sport.  They  had  found  a herd  of  eleven, 
out  of  which  they  had  killed  five  ; Mr.  Bellows,  the  Judge, 
Fogarty,  Van  and  Hill  each  selecting  an  animal,  following 
him  up  and  pumping  lead  into  him  until  he  was  brought  to 
the  earth.  The  Major  saw  two  small  herds,  but  as  he  was 
with  us  more  as  leader  than  as  hunter,  and  preferred  to  leave 
the  greater  portion  of  the  sport  to  us,  he  made  no  attempt  to 
get  a shot  at  them. 

Lance,  the  Major’s  orderly,  and  the  half-breed  scout  did 
not  return  until  after  ten  o’clock.  We  all  supposed  they  had 
lost  their  course  and  camped  alone,  but  just  as  we  were  retir- 
ing they  rode  in  and  reported  having  struck  the  main  herd 
about  twelve  miles  to  the  north  of  us.  They  reached  it  just 
at  sunset  and  said  that  as  far  as  they  could  see,  to  the  right, 
left,  and  in  front,  the  prairie  was  black  with  buffaloes.  They 
estimated  the  herd  to  contain  at  least  two  hundred  thousand ! 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


155 


The  half-breed  is  a native  of  the  plains.  Lance  has  seen 
several  years’  of  frontier  service,  and  consequently  both  are 
accustomed  to  seeing  and  hunting  buffaloes.  It  is  not  likely, 
therefore  that  they  overestimated  the  size  of  the  herd.  They 
killed  several  choice  young  bulls  and  heifers  and  said  they 
could  have  slaughtered  a hundred  of  them  had  they  chosen 
to  do  so.  But  they  only  killed  such  a number  as  the  teams 
could  take  care  of  the  next  morning. 

This  is  said  to  be  about  the  only  great  herd  of  this  noble 
animal  now  remaining  in  the  Northwest.  Twenty  years  ago 
such  herds  could  be  found  in  every  valley,  in  every  good  grazing 
district  in  all  the  great  West,  but  the  constant  and  yearly 
increasing  slaughter  by  market  hunters,  those  who  kill  them 
merely  for  their  hides,  has  reduced  them  to  this  one  herd  in 
the  North  and  one  or  two  smaller  herds  in  the  South.  The 
progress  of  civilization  westward  is  yearly  curtailing  their 
range,  and  the  building  of  railroads  into  the  very  heart  of 
their  country  is  rendering  the  killing  of  them  for  marketing 
purposes  still  more  lucrative.  In  view  of  all  these  facts  I repeat 
that  he  who  would  kill  a buffalo  or  even  see  one  alive  on  his 
native  range,  must  do  so  within  the  next  five  years,,  or  the 
opportunity  will  be  forever  past.  I believe  that  ten  years 
hence  they  will  be  almost  entirely  extinct  if  not  protected. 

On  Thursday  morning,  the  23d,  I crawled  out  of  the  tent 
at  daylight  without  disturbing  my  companions,  and,  equipped 
for  action,  I made  a bee-line  for  the  place  where  I had  seen 
the  two  herds  the  night  before.  But  when  I reached  the  top 
of  the  ridge  from  which  I had  seen  them  and  eagerly  scanned 
the  valley  to  the  north,  south  and  west  as  far  as  I could  see,  I 
was  sadly  disappointed  to  find  that  they  were  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  They  had  left  for  parts  unknown.  But  while  looking 
for  them  I saw  two  very  large  bulls  grazing  in  the  valley  half- 
a-mile  below  me,  and  proceeded  to  lay  my  plans  for  stalking 


156 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


them.  1 saw  at  once,  however,  that  this  would  be  very  diffi- 
cult to  do,  for  they  were  on  the  top  of  a small  ridge  that 
commanded  a full  view  of  all  the  ground  within  three  or  four 
hundred  yards  of  them,  except  one  very  small  cooley.  If  I 
could  get  into  this  I could  approach  within  short  range  of 
them.  But  how  to  get  there  was  the  question.  I made  a 
wide  detour  to  get  to  leeward  of  them,  keeping  far  enough 
away  to  prevent  them  from  seeing  me.  When  the  wind  finally 
blew  squarely  in  my  eye  as  I looked  at  them,  I commenced 
the  approach.  I sought  the  lowest  ground  I could  find,  but 
go  where  I would  I was  in  full  view  of  them.  Finally  I 
reached  a low  swale,  in  which,  by  lying  down,  I could  con- 
ceal myself  from  them.  Here  I crawled,  prone  upon  the 
ground,  through  cactus,  sage  brush  and  sharp,  flinty  stones,  a 
distance  of  three  or  four  hundred  yards.  This  at  last  brought 
me  to  the  cooley  or  ravine  that  I so  longed  to  reach.  Up 
this  I moved  rapidly  but  stealthily  until  within  about  three 
hundred  yards  of  my  game.  Here  the  cooley  turned  squarely 
to  the  left  and  would  not  carry  me  any  closer  if  I followed  it 
further.  So  I must  shoot  from  here  or  crawl  again. 

Which  shall  I do?  I can  hit  one  of  them  from  here,  but 
am  somewhat  tired  and  nervous  from  my  long  and  laborious 
crawling,  and  whether  I can  put  the  first  ball  where  it  will  do 
the  most  good  is  a serious  question.  Then  after  the  first  shot, 
the  subsequent  ones  must  be  made  on  the  run,  and  the  dis- 
tance will  render  these  still  more  uncertain.  So  I will  crawl 
again.  But  the  sun  has  risen,  is  shining  brightly,  and  as  I 
emerge  from  the  cooley  and  start  up  the  swale,  though  I lay 
perfectly  flat,  my  shadow  is  thrown  strongly  against  the  side 
of  the  ridge  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  cooley.  Will  they 
not  see  this,  and  take  the  alarm?  Well,  I can  onlv  hope  not, 
for  there  is  no  other  course  open  to  me.  I move  very  slowly 
now,  frequently  stopping  and  peering  cautiously  over  the 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


157 


short  grass,  to  see  if  I am  discovered.  But  no;  they  are 
still  feeding,  and  I move  on.  Now  I look  again,  and  sure 
enough  one  of  them  has  seen  my  shadow.  He  has  stopped 
feeding  and  is  looking  intently  at  it.  Now  is  my  last  chance. 
Not  a moment  is  to  be  lost.  I measure  the  ground  with  my 
eye  quickly  and  see  that  perseverance  has  accomplished  its 
object.  I am  now  within  a hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  my 
game.  I select  the  largest  of  the  two,  raise  on  my  elbows  — 
the  “Bodine  position” — and  hold,  not  for  his  heart,  but  for 
a larger  target,  his  lungs,  which  lie  just  above  and  in  front  of 
the  heart.  I pull,  and  as  the  voice  of  “old  reliable”  rings 
out  upon  the  clear  morning  air,  I hear  the  bullet  “spat” 
against  the  tough  skin  of  the  old  monarch.  He  lashes  his 
tail,  bounds  convulsively,  and  he  and  his  mate  break  into 
their  heavy,  rolling,  shambling  run.  I put  in  another  car- 
tridge and  give  him  another  shot,  and  then  another,  both  of 
which  I plainly  hear  strike  him.  By  this  time  they  have 
passed  behind  a hill  and  are  out  of  sight.  I run  to  the  top  of 
this  hill,  and  on  the  way  cross  their  trail,  which  I find  marked 
with  blood.  Yes,  it  is  from  his  nostrils,  too.  My  first  shot 
did  its  work  well  — it  went  through  his  lungs  and  he  cannot 
go  far.  As  I reach  the  top  of  the  hill  I see  them  standing 
some  three  hundred  yards  beyond. 

I was  now  certain  of  the  wounded  bull,  and  turned  my 
attention  to  the  other.  The  first  shot  hit  him,  and  as  he  ran 
I gave  him  two  more,  but  although  badly  hurt  he  carried 
away  my  lead.  The  one  I first  shot  followed  as  far  as  he 
could,  but  after  running  about  a quarter  of  a mile  he  stopped, 
swayed  to  and  fro,  staggered,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  earth. 

I walk  deliberately  up  to  the  dead  monarch  and  gaze 
upon  him  in  silent  admiration  for  several  minutes.  This  is, 
indeed,  one  of  the  proudest  moments  of  my  life.  This  is 


158 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


my  first  buffalo.  Moreover  I have  killed  him  alone  and 
unaided' — there  is  no  lead  in  him  but  my  own. 

Now  that  the  excitement  is  over  I realize  the  fact  that  I 
am  over  three  miles  from  camp  and  entirely  alone.  I remem- 
ber that  we  have  all  along  been  on  the  lookout  for  Indians 
and  have  been  prepared  to  meet  them.  The  Sioux,  of  course, 
know  where  these  buffaloes  are  as  well  as  we  do,  and  that 
bands  of  them  are  likely  to  be  out  here  laying  in  their  win- 
ter’s supply  of  meat,  is  the  most  natural  conclusion  in  the 
the  world.  I instinctively  feel  for  the  top  of  my  head,  but 
then  I reflect  that  bald-headed  men  don’t  make  good  scalps, 
and  I feel  a little  safer.  However,  I felt  that  I ought  to  go  to 
camp  at  once  for  it  was  breakfast  time,  so  I went.  When  I 
arrived  there  my  friends  had  finished  eating,  hitched  up  the 
teams,  and  were  waiting  for  me  to  join  them  in  another  hunt. 

I ate  a very  hearty  breakfast  in  a very  short  space  of  time, 
and  we  were  off  again,  the  Judge  and  Mr.  Bellows  on  one 
buckboard,  the  Major  and  I on  the  other,  and  the  boys  on 
horseback.  We  drove  southwest  about  fifteen  miles,  but  did 
not  succeed  in  finding  any  game.  We  returned  to  camp  at 
three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  Corporal  Brown  and  I 
took  one  of  the  teams  and  went  out  to  skin  the  buffalo  I had 
killed  in  the  morning.  We  found  it  a very  difficult  task.  He 
was  an  unusually  large  and  very  old  one,  and  the  skin  about 
the  head  and  neck  was  from  a half  to  three-quarters  of  an 
inch  thick.  The  fur  was  in  fair  condition,  much  better  than 
it  usually  is  at  this  time  of  year. 

When  we  commenced  the  operation  the  corporal  re- 
minded me  that  it  would  be  prudent  to  load  our  rifles  and 
lay  them  close  at  hand,  for  said  he,  “ We  never  know  in  this 
country  when  wre  are  going  to  .be  jumped  by  Indians,  and  we 
make  it  a point  to  always  be  ready  for  them.”  As  we  pro- 
ceeded with  the  work  we  frequently  stopped  and  looked 


ten  days  in  Montana. 


159 


cautiously  over  the  surrounding  country,  but  seeing  neither 
Indians  or  other  game  and  becoming  more  deeply  interested 
in  our  work,  we  became  less  vigilant.  We  were  working  with 
a will  and  had  almost  entirely  forgotten  our  self-imposed 
duties  as  sentries  when  we  heard  a voice,  and  looking  sud- 
denly in  the  direction  from  which  it  came,  we  saw  three  men 
emerging  from  a ravine  within  thirty  yards  of  us  ! They 
were  white  men,  for  which  fact  we  felt  devoutly  thankful,  for 
had  they  been  redskins  they  might  easily  have  had  our  mules, 
our  rifles  and  our  scalps.  We  felt  considerably  chagrined  at 
having  allowed  ourselves  to  oe  caught  so  entirely  off  our 
guard,  and  our  visitors  appreciated  the  joke  all  the  more  that 
they  had  not  tried  to  steal  the  march  on  us  at  all,  but  had 
walked  briskly  along  conversing  in  their  usual  tones.  They 
proved  to  be  the  party  of  market  hunters  I had  met  on  the 
train  from  Bismarck  to  Green  river.  They  had  come  through 
.from  the  latter  place  by  team  and  encamped  in  the  vicinity 
of  our  camp.  They  had  not  yet  found  any  buffaloes,  and  we 
treated  them  to  a liberal  supply  of  “hump”  from  the  one  we 
were  at  work  on,  for  their  table.  They  came  just  in  time 
to  give  us  a hand  at  turning  the  carcass  over,  a thing  the 
corporal  and  I should  not  have  been  able  to  do  alone  without 
first  cutting  it  up.  They  estimated  that  the  animal  would 
weigh  fourteen  hundred  pounds,  gross. 

At  about  six  o’clock  we  finished  our  task,  rolled  up  the 
skin  and  put  it  on  the  buckboard,  cut  out  the  best  of  the 
meat,  and  started  for  camp.  On  the  way  in  Corporal  Brown 
made  a very  fine  shot  at  an  antelope,  cutting  him  down  clean 
at  three  hundred  and  fifty  yards. 

Fogarty,  Van  Vleck,  and  Hill,  who  had  ridden  south 
about  fifteen  miles,  came  in  late  and  reported  having  struck  a 
herd  of  about  two  hundred,  besides  several  smaller  herds. 
They  only  killed  two,  as  they  were  so  far  from  camp  that  they 


i 


160 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


could  not  bring  in  the  meat,  and  as  we  had  decided  to  move 
north  the  next  day,  should  not  be  able  to  send  the  teams  for 
it.  Some  of  the  soldiers  who  had  been  out  north  reported 
having  seen  a very  large  herd  moving  toward  Beaver  creek. 
W e felt  sure  we  should  find  them  on  the  morrow,  as  that  was 
the  direction  in  which  we  had  arranged  to  move.  We 
retired  to  rest  late  at  night,  well  pleased  with  the  day’s  sport 
as  a whole,  having  killed  three  buffaloes  and  an  antelope. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THROUGH  AN  EXTINCT  HELL! 

ANOTHER  HERD  OF  BUFFALOES  — AN  UNUSUAL  EXPERIENCE  — A GRAND 
LEAP  FOR  LIFE  — PURSUING  THE  HERD — BACK  THROUGH  THE  BAD 
LANDS  — BLACK-TAIL  DEER — STILL  AFTER  THE  BUFFALOES — DE- 
FEATED— MORE  SPORT — CLOSE  QUARTERS  — THE  BISON  YIELDS  — 
THE  HUNT  IS  UP. 

We  awoke  on  Friday  morning,  September  24th,  to  find  a 
raw,  cold,  northwest  wind  blowing,  accompanied  by  a rain 
that  seemed  to  wet  us,  even  through  our  heavy  rubber  suits. 
Truly  a bad  day  for  our  business,  but  time  was  precious  with 
most  of  us,  and  we  had  journeyed  too  far  to  waste  any  of  it 
lying  in  camp  waiting  for  fair  weather,  so  we  struck  tents, 
packed  up,  and  pulled  out  for  Beaver  creek  on  our  return  to 
Camp  McIntosh. 

At  about  five  miles  from  Pennel  station  we  again  entered 
the  Cabin  creek  bad  lands.  As  we  halted  on  the  margin  of 
the  prairie  overlooking  this  valley  it  seemed  folly  to  attempt 
to  cross  them  with  our  teams.  Here  were  abrupt  hills, 
gullies,  buttes,  rocky  precipices,  gulches,  canyons,  extinct 
craters,  great  heaps  of  scoria  and  debris  of  various  kinds,  all 
mixed  and  jumbled  together  in  an  indescribable  and  almost 
indiscernible  mass.  How  on  earth  could  any  human  being 
ever  find  a passage  through  this  extinct  hell  (as  General  Sully 
termed  it)  on  foot?  And  if  such  a feat,  seemed  impossible 
how  were  we  to  make  the  passage  with  our  heavily-loaded 
teams?  There  was  no  trail,  and  no  evidence  that  any  man 
or  body  of  men  had  ever  crossed  through  here,  yet  Major  Bell 
11  161 


162 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


said  we  could  do  it,  and  we  simply  said  we  would  go  where- 
ever  he  told  us  tc  go. 

At  this  juncture  we  sighted  a herd  of  about  two  hundred 
head  of  buffaloes,  grazing  on  the  creek  bottom  two  miles 
ahead  in  the  direct  line  of  our  march,  and  started  for  them. 
The  descent  into  the  valley  was  comparatively  easy,  the  worst 
portion  of  the  bad  lands  lying  beyond  the  creek.  Still  we 
had  to  pick  our  route  very  cautiously,  and  our  progress,  was 
slow  and  tedious.  Finally  we  reached  a point  as  near  the 
herd  as  we  could  drive  the  teams,  and  dismounted.  Unfor- 
tunately we  were  on  the  windward  side  of  the  herd,. and  as  a 
broad  level  plateau  stretched  away  beyond  them  it  was  im- 
possible for  us  to  approach  them  from  the  leeward.  A few  of 
our  party  succeeded  in  getting  within  range,  however,  and 
gave  them  a volley.  Then  were  we  treated  to  a spectacle 
that  only  falls  to  the  lot  of  a professional  plainsman  to  witness 
once  in  a lifetime.  Perhaps  not  one  in  ten  thousand  who  go 
from  the  States  for  a buffalo  hunt  would  ever  see  it.  It  is  a 
thing  we  have  read  of  in  our  boyhood  days  ; a thing  we  have 
seen  delineated  on  canvas,  or  on  steel,  but  we  never  hoped  to 
see  it  enacted  in  real  life. 

At  the  first  volley  the  herd  stampeded.  Not  only  did  the 
reports  of  our  rifles  alarm  them  but  they  winded  us  at  the 
same  time,  and,  as  they  started  to  move,  our  horsemen  charged 
them,  firing  as  they  ran.  The  consternation  of  the  herd  was 
complete.  They  took  a westerly  course  over  what  appeared 
to  be  a perfectly  level  stretch  of  ground  for  two  miles  down 
the  valley.  Little  did  they  expect  to  meet  with  any  obstacle 
to  their  flight.  Like  chaff  before  a gale,  they  fairly  flew. 
Only  the  fleetest  horse  could  successfully  cope  with  them  in 
speed.  They  had  gone  perhaps  a quarter  of  a mile  — just  far 
enough  to  become  thoroughly  warmed  to  the  flight — their 
excitement  at  fever  heat  — when  suddenly  the  leaders  of  the 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


163 


herd,  several  of  the  largest  and  fleetest  bulls,  were  seen  to  plant 
all  four  of  their  feet  firmly  in  the  ground  and  throw  their 
huge  bodies  backward  upon  their  haunches  in  a vain  endeavor 
to  stop.  What  is  it  that  can  thus  check  their  mad  career  ? 
We  look  quickly  ahead  of  them,  and  a single  glance  explains 
it  all.  There,  just  ahead  of  them,  under  the  very  feet  of  the 
leaders,  is  a perpendicular  precipice  seventy  feet  high.  Great 
heavens,  must  they  go  down  this  ? Must  they  take  this  dizzy 
plunge?  They  will  be  dashed  to  pieces,  mutilated  beyond 
description  or  recognition.  But  there,  is  no  help  for  it. 
Their  momentum  exceeds  all  their  great  strength.  Besides, 
those  in  their  rear  rush  headlong  against  them,  impelling  them 
irresistibly  to  destruction,  and  losing  their  footing  they  fall 
headlong,  summersaulting  through  the  air,  down  this  frightful 
precipice  ! They  piled  up  at  the  foot  of  the  embankment 
three,  six,  ten  deep,  in  a struggling,  writhing,  surging 
mass. 

A few  of  those  farther  back  in  the  herd,  when  they  saw 
their  leaders  halt  and  plunge  out  of  sight,  wavered,  checked 
their  speed  in  time  to  save  themselves  and,  sheering  off"  to  the 
left,  went  down  a ravine,  and  thus  escaped  the  fate  of  those  in 
front ; but  not  until  seventeen  of  them  had  taken  this  fearful 
leap  was  the  line  broken.  We  rushed  to  the  brink  of  the 
precipice  fully  expecting  to  find  all,  or  nearly  all,  of  those  who 
had  gone  over  lying  dead  in  a heap,  but  to  our  utter  amaze- 
ment not  one  of  them  was  killed.  Fortunately  for  them,  there 
were  no  rocks  there  for  them  to  fall  on,  but  on  the  contrary  a 
large  alkali  bed,  of  about  the  consistency  of  mortar.  In  this 
they  were  rolling  and  struggling,  and  when  they  finally 
emerged  from  it  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  determine  to 
what  species  they  belonged.  As  they  galloped  away  across 
the  valley,  plastered  from  head  to  foot  with  this  white  mud, 
they  presented  such  a ludicrous  appearance  as  to  provoke 


164 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


shouts  of  merriment  from  all  who  saw  them.  And  thus  was  a 
tragedy  suddenly  transformed  into  a farce. 

As  soon  as  we  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  scene  we 
had  witnessed,  several  of  our  horsemen  mounted,  pursued,  and 
overtook  the  herd,  charged  them,  and  killed  three  of  them. 
Then  we  resumed  our  difficult  and  perilous  journey  through 
the  bad  lands.  We  wound  through  narrow  defiles  where  there 
was  barely  room  for  a team  to  move  ; we  drove  along  the  very 
brink  of  deep  gulches,  where  a swerve  of  a foot  out  of  the 
proper  course  would  have  sent  team  and  driver  on  even  a 
worse  plunge  than  the  buffaloes  made.  We  crossed  deep 
gullies,  the  banks  of  which  were  so  abrupt  that,  as  we  went 
down,  vfe  had  to  brace  ourselves  and  hang  on  with  all  our 
strength  to  avoid  tumbling  over  the  dashboard,  and  as  the 
mules  started  up  the  opposite  bank  we  could  easily  take  hold 
of  their  ears  without  leaving  our  seats. 

Finally,  after  four  hours  of  this  toiling,  we  ascended  onto 
the  high,  open  prairie  again.  There  we  halted,  and  with  one 
accord  congratulated  Major  Bell  upon  the  ingenuity  and  skill 
with  which  he  had  selected  the  route  and  piloted  us  through 
this  seemingly  impassable  region. 

During  the  passage  through  this  strip  of  bad  lands  we 
jumped  several  mule  deer,  but  owing  to  the  character  of  the 
ground  only  succeeded  in  killing  one.  This  is  a favorite 
cover  for  them,  and  a large  number  of  them  could  easily  be 
killed  in  a day’s  hunting.  This  variety  of  the  cervidce  is 
generally  known  throughout  Dakota,  Montana,  and  other 
adjacent  territories,  as-  the  black-tailed  deer,  but  this  is  not  its 
proper  name.  Judge  Caton,  than  whom  there  is  no  better 
authority  on  the  cervidce.  of  America,  proves  conclusively  that 
the  black-tail  deer  inhabits  Oregon  and  Washington  territo- 
ries only,  and  has  never  been  found  east  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
mountains.  In  the  black-tailed  deer  almost  the  entire  tail  is 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


165 


black,  while  in  the  mule  deer,  the  species  we  killed,  it  is 
nearly  all  white,  having  but  a few  black  hairs  on  the  tip. 
The  mule  deer  is  so  called  from  the  large  size  of  its  ears  and 
their  resemblance  to  those  of  the  mule,  while  in  the  black-tail 
deer  the  ears  are  nearly  identical  in  size  and  shape  with  those 
of  the  Virginia  or  red  deer. 

We  arrived  at  the  head  of  Beaver  creek  (the  scene  of  our 
first  night’s  camp  on  the  outward  march)  at  seven  o’clock  in 
the  evening,  and  were  gratified  to  see  a large  herd  of  buffaloes 
grazing  in  a valley  only  about  two  miles  away.  It  was  too 
late  to  go  after  them  then,  but  we  felt  sure  they  would  be 
there  in  the  morning,  and  so  they  were. 

After  a sound  night’s  sleep  we  were  up  at  daylight  and 
again  on  the  war-path.  The  herd  had  moved  but  a short 
distance  from  where  we  saw  them  the  night  before.  We  had 
ridden  but  a.  few  miles  when  we  again  saw  them  lying  down. 
They  were  sleeping  later  than  usual,  probably  owing  to  the 
inclement  weather.  The  cold  rain  of  the  previous  day  con- 
tinued to  fall  at  intervals  and  the  buffaloes  dislike  to  move 
about  much  in  such  weather.  We  found  it  very  difficult  to  get 
to  leeward  of  this  herd,  owing  to  the  formation  of  the  ground. 
While  attempting  to  do  so  they  winded  us  and  stampeded  up  a 
valley  before  we  got  a shot  at  them.  We  knew  they  would 
not  go  far,  so  we  followed  them.  When  we  reached  the  top 
of  a high  ridge  we  saw  several  smaller  herds  in  different 
directions.  Here  Mr.  Van  Vleck  kindly  offered  me  his  little 
bronco  pony  to  ride  for  the  purpose  of  taking  a run  after 
them.  He  had  made  me  the  same  offer  several  times  before, 
but  I had  declined  it.  This,  however,  was  to  be  the  last  day 
of  the  hunt,  and  I now  gladly  accepted.  I mounted  and  Mr. 
Fogarty  and  I started  for  eight  old  bulls  that  we  saw  a mile 
or  two  to  the  south.  We  rode  up  a valley  running  parallel  to 


166 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


the  one  they  were  in,  hoping  to  pass  and  get  to  leeward  jf 
them  before  they  should  scent  us. 

Occasionally  we  rode  cautiously  up  the  ridge  and  peered 
over  to  keep  the  lay  of  the  land,  but  before  we  could  get 
favorable  ground  on  which  to  make  the  crossing  they  winded 
us,  sure  enough,  and  started  at  full  speed  for  the  bad  lands, 
which  at  this  point  were  but  two  miles  away.  Then  we  con- 
cluded to  try  speed  with  them,  although  they  had  the  start  by 
a long  stretch,  so,  dropping  back  over  the  ridge  that  our  pres- 
ence might  not  unnecessarily  frighten  them,  we  spurred  our 
ponies  and  the  race  began.  We  hoped  to  be  able  to  head 
them  off  before  they  reached  the  bad  lands  and  turn  them 
back  in  the  direction  of  our  comrades.  After  covering  the 
two  miles  we  wheeled  to  the  right,  fully  expecting  to  find 
ourselves  ahead  and  to  charge  the  bulls  ; but,  alas  ! we  had 
sadly  overestimated  the  speed  of  our  ponies  or  underesti- 
mated that  of  the  bison,  for  when  we  reached  the  top  of  the 
ridge  there  stood  the  eight  old  monarchs  on  the  top  of 
another  ridge  still  ahead  of  us.  They  were  masters  of  the 
situation.  They  were  on  the  very  brink  of  the  bad  lands,, 
whither  they  seemed  to  know  we  could  not  follow  them. 
They  were  drawn  up  in  line  like  so  many  knights  of  old,  as  if 
determined  to  resist  our  further  advance,  even  to  the  death. 
As  they  stood  there  facing  us,  frowning  down  upon  us  with 
disdainful,  majestic  mien,  their  mammoth  forms  outlined 
against  the  gray,  misty  clouds,  they  loomed  up  like  distant 
mountains.  They  seemed  to  bid  us  defiance.  No  artist  could 
ever  do  that  picture  justice.  We  did  not  fire  at  them,  as  we 
knew  it  would  be  useless  while  they  stood  with  their  heads 
toward  us.  The  only  effective  shot  at  a buffalo,  generally 
speaking,  is  a broadside.  We  wheeled  again,  rode  round  a 
neighboring  butte  in  hope?  of  getting  a broadside  at  them 
yet,  but  when  we  again  came  in  sight  of  where  we  left  them 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


167 


they  were  not  there.  They  had  fled  into  the  bad  lands,  and 
nothing  remained  for  us  but  to  acknowledge  defeat  and 
retrace  our  steps. 

All  this  time  we  had  heard  firing  on  our  right  and  knew  that 
the  other  boys  were  having  their  sport.  We  rode  over  to  them 
and  found  that  Judge  Souther,  Hill  and  Lance  had  each  killed 
one.  We  cut  them  up  as  quickly  as  possible,  loaded  them 
onto  the  wagons  and  again  started  in  the  direction  of  camp. 
We  had  gone  but  a few  miles  when  we  saw  still  another  herd 
of  about  two  hundred.  We  were  already  to  leeward  of  these 
and  had  no  trouble  in  getting  a choice  position  for  the  first 
shot.  Nearly  all  the  party  dismounted,  walked  cautiously  to 
the  top  of  a hill  within  about  a hundred  and  fifty  yards  of 
tire  herd,  and  gave  them  a volley.  Then  a number  of  other 
shots  were  fired  in  rapid  succession  before  the  herd  got  out 
of  range.  When  the  first  volley  was  fired,  I rode  quickly  to 
the  top  of  the  hill  to  watch  the  effect  and  await  a cessation  of 
hostilities,  so  that  I could  ride  in.  As  the  herd  started, 
at  the  first  round,  three  animals — a bull,  a cow  and  a calf — 
fell  out  of  the  ranks  mortally  wounded. 

As  soon  as  the  firing  ceased,  I put  spurs  to  my  pony  and 
started  in  pursuit  of  the  herd.  A stern  chase  is  a long  chase, 
and  so  it  proved  in  this  instance.  No  one  who  has  not  seen 
a practical  demonstration  of  it  would  believe  that  the  heavy, 
clumsy-looking  animal,  the  bison,  possesses  speed  equal  to 
that  of  the  horse  in  general,  but  such  is  the  fact.  It  takes  an 
unusually  fleet  horse,  and  one  of  good  bottom,  to  catch  a 
sound  buffalo,  and  a horse,  that  is. not  superior  to  his  class  in 
speed  will  get  sadly  left  in  the  race  every  time  he  under- 
takes it. 

Waiting  for  my  friends  to  get  all  the  shooting  they  could 
on  foot  before  I started,  had  given  the  herd  nearly  a quarter 
of  a mile  the  start  of  me,  but  the  little  bronco,  when  I gave 


168 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


him  the  spur  and  the  rein,  flew  like  the  wind.  The  herd 
started  up  a long  “ divide,”  over  ground  as  hard  and  smooth 
as  a race  track,  and  as  they  had  about  three  miles  to  run  be- 
fore reaching  the  bad  lands,  I had  every  advantage  I could 
wish  for.  My  pony  gained  steadily  on  them,  and  the  nearer 
he  got  to  them  the  more  he  became  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
the  chase.  Finally,  he  laid  me  alongside  of  the  herd,  but  it 
was  stretched  out  to  a great  length,  running  in  single  file,  or 
nearly  so,  and  those  in  the  rear  were  the  slowest  and  least 
desirable  animals  of  all.  So  I encouraged  my  pony,  and 
with  a renewed  effort  he  carried  me  up  along  the  line,  passing 
the  rear  guard,  then  the  center  of  the  herd,  and  finally  well 
toward  its  head.  What  an  exciting  scene  is  this  ! Here  I am, 
riding  within  ten  feet  of  this  vast  throng  of  fleeing,  panic- 
stricken  monsters.  What  if  my  horse  should  make  a misstep 
and  fall ; what  if  he  should  become  suddenly  panic-stricken, 
too, — become  unmanageable  and  throw  me  ? Then,  indeed, 
would  death  be  my  certain  lot,  for  I should  surely  be  trampled 
into  the  earth. 

But  the  excitement  of  the  sport  outweighs'  all  sense  of 
^anger,  and  I would  not  for  a thousand  dollars  be  elsewhere 
than  just  where  I am.  Finally  I selected  the  animal  I 
wanted, — a young,  active,  vicious-looking  bull — a foeman 
worthy  of  my  steel.  I drew  my  revolver  and  fired  at  him.  I 
saw  the  dirt  fly  beyond,  and  thought  I had  missed  him,  but 
another  glance  told  me  that  the  bullet  had  passed  through  his 
neck.  At  this  he  had  dropped  out  of  the  ranks  and  circled  off 
to  the  left.  I pursued  him,  and  riding  up  close  to  him  gave 
him  two  more  shots,  when  he  stopped  suddenly,  turned  and 
charged  me,  as  if  intent  upon  wreaking  vengeance  on  me  for 
the  wrong  I had  done  him. 

My  pony  was  well  used  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  needed 
little  direction  from  me  to  wheel  and  bound  away  out  of 


TEN  DAYS  IN' MONTANA. 


169 


reach  of  the  infuriated  animal.  As  soon  as  the  bull  stopped  I 
wheeled  again,  rode  up  to  him  on  the  other  side,  and  taking 
deliberate  aim  at  the  region  of  his  lungs,  fired  again.  He 
turned  and  came  at  me  agaiii,  but  little  Bronco  still  kept 
out  of  his  reach.  Another  ball  went  crashing  through  his 
ribs,  and  again  he  charged  me  with  the  same  result.  I then 
gave  him  the  last  charge  I had  in  my  revolver,  and  still  he 
kept  his  feet,  but  was  too  weak  from  loss  of  blood  to  again 
attack  me.  He  now  stood  with  his  head  down,  looking 
moodily  and  sullenly  at  me,  turning  as  I rode  round  him,  so 
as  to  face  me  all  the  time.  Finally  I unslung  my  rifle  from 
the  saddle,  and  slipping  in  an  explosive  ball,  fired  it  into  him 
and  brought  him  down. 

When  I first  attacked  the  herd  and  brought  this  bull  out 
of  it  several  of  those  in  rear  of  him  became  demoralized  and 
left,  too.  They  turned  and  fled  in  different  directions,  and 
Mr.  Fogarty  and  other  members  of  the  party  coming  up, 
killed  three  of  them,  which  with  the  three  killed  from  the' 
first  firing,  made  six  in  all  that  we  got  out  of  this  herd. 

We  cut  these  up,  took  the  best  of  the  meat,  and  again 
moved  rapidly  toward  Major  Bell’s  camp,  where  we  arrived 
at  seven  o’clock  in  the  evening. 

And  thus  ends  the  story  of  my  first  buffalo  hunt.  It 
was  a most  pleasant  and  successful  one  in  every  respect, 
barring  the  weather  of  the  last  two  days.  We  killed  in  all 
sixty-four  buffaloes,  seven  antelopes  and  two  mule  deer, 
besides  a goodly  quantity  of  small  game. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  accuse  us  of  slaughtering  an 
undue  number  of  buffaloes,  but  when  I remind  them  that  we 
saved  nearly  all  the  meat,  and  took  it  into  camp,  where  the 
troops  made  good  use  of  it ; that  there  were  nearly  twenty 
men  in  our  party,  making  the  number  killed  average  but 
little  more  than  three  to  each  man,  and  that  we  had  ample 


170 


TEN  DAYS  IN  MONTANA. 


opportunities  to  have  killed  at  least  three  times  the  number 
we  did  kill,  but  stopped  as  soon  as  we  had  all  we  could  take 
care  of,  I trust,  dear  reader,  • that  you  will  withdraw  the 
charge.  Two,  at  least,  of  the  party  traveled  over  2,000 
miles  to  engage  in  this  hunt,  and  in  view  of  this  and  the 
other  facts  “hereinbefore  set  forth,”  we  consider  three  buf- 
faloes to  each  man  a very  modest  bag. 

By  prolonging  our  stay  we  could  have  killed  hundreds, 
but  there  was  not  a man  in  the  party  who  did  not  express 
himself  as  opposed  to  any  waste  of  this  noble  animal.  Would 
that  I could  say  as  much  for  every  man  who  has  ever  been  on 
the  plains.  If  so,  the  buffaloes  would  be  almost  as  plentiful 
there  to-day  as  they  ever  were. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 

JACKSONVILLE — • A CITY  OF  ORANGE  GROVES — -ON  BOARD  THE-  “ PAS- 
TIME ” — MRS.  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE’S  WINTER  HOME — HIBER- 
NIA— MAGNOLIA  — PALATKA — “THERE’S  AN  ALLIGATOR!”  — FINE 
SPORT  — LAKE  GEORGE  — MANHATTAN — WILLIAM  ASTOR’S  ORANGE 
GROVE — AN  ALLIGATOR  THIRTY  FEET  LONG — DR.  SPALDING’S 
TROUT  — ST.  AUGUSTINE,  THE  OLDEST  CITY  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

As  every  sportsman  who  visits  Florida  will,  of  course, 
visit  Jacksonville,  and  as  he  may  perhaps  wish  to  know  some- 
thing of  this,  the  commercial  metropolis  of  the  State,  before 
coming  here,  I shall  give  a brief  description  of  it. 

It  is  situated  on  the  St.  John’s  river,  twenty  miles  from 
its  mouth,  and  has  become  in  the  past  few  years  an  important 
railroad,  manufacturing  and  commercial  center.  The 
Atlantic  & Gulf,  Jacksonville,  Pensacola  & Mobile,  Florida 
Central,  and  the  Atlantic,  Gulf  & West  India  Transit  rail- 
roads, all  contribute  to  its  prosperity. 

It  has  grown  to  its  present  magnitude  almost  entirely 
since  the  war.  In  1865  it  had  a population  of  only  1,800, 
and  to-day  it  numbers  within  its  corporate  limits  nearly 
12,000  souls.  Mach  of  this  growth  has  occurred  even  within 
the  past  five  years,  and  a majority  of  the  best  residences  and 
business  blocks  have  a new  and  fresh  look  about  them  that 
contributes  largely  to  the  beauty  and  attractiveness  of  the 
place.  Nearly  every  yard  in  the  city  is  ornamented  with 
rich  tropical  and  semi-tropical  shrubs  and  plants.  Orange 
trees  are  used  for  shade-trees  in  door-yards  and  along  the 
sidewalks  in  front.  In  many  places  you  will  see  rows  of  these 

i'l 


172 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


trees  along  either  side  of  the  street,  laden  with  their  rich, 
golden  fruit,  tempting  you  to  partake  thereof  as  freely  as  you 
would  drink  water  from  the  public  fountain. 

The  streets  are  macadamized,  so  to  speak,  with  oyster 
shells,  reminding  one  of  the  vast  quantities  of  this  delicious 
bivalve  that  are  annually  taken  from  the  adjacent  waters. 

The  city  is  illuminated  with  gas,  and  water-works  are  now 
in  process  of  construction.  She  has  seventeen  churches  and 
four  schoolhouses,  nea7  ly  all  built  of  brick. 

The  manufacture  of  lumber  is  carried  on  extensively  here. 
There  are  six  large  mills  in  operation,  some  of  them  cutting 
as  high  as  125,000  feet  of  lumber  per  day. 

There  are  eight  large  hotels,  several  of  which  are  first-class 
in  every  particular.  The  principal  business  streets  present  a 
scene  of  energy  and  activity  not  excelled  in  any  city  of  this 
size  in  the  country.  Nearly  all  the  business  houses  are  built 
of  brick  and  stone,  and  are  furnished  with  all  the  modern 
improvements  in  architecture.  The  stocks  of  goods  display 
taste  and  judgment  in  the  merchants,  and  many  of  the  houses 
do  a very  large  business. 

Having  taken  a hasty  look  about  town,  I boarded  the 
good  steamer  “Pastime,”  and  at  ten  o’clock  a.m.  of  the  16th, 
we  steamed  out  upon  the  broad  and  placid  bosom  of  this,  one 
of  the  most  sublimely  beautiful  streams  in  the  world.  It 
flows  from  the  mysterious  everglades,  in  the  southern  portion 
of  the  state,  some  of  its  tributaries  rising  near  the  famous 
Lake  Okeechobee,  vast  swamps  and  morasses  are  drained  by 
these  tributaries,  imparting  to  the  water  of  the  St.  John’s  a rich 
chocolate  color.  It  is  one  of  the  few  large  rivers  in  the  world 
that  flow  from  south  to  north.  From  Jacksonville  to  Palatka, 
a distance  of  seventy-five  miles,  it  has  an  average  width  of 
two  to  four  miles,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  a vast  lake  more 
than  of  a river.  Above  Palatka  it  narrows  rapidly  to  a 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


173 

width  of  one  to  two  hundred  yards  and  becomes  exceeding 
crooked. 

The  first  object  of  interest  after  leaving  Jacksonville  is  at 
Mandarin,  twelve  miles  above,  where  we  were  favored  with  a 
view  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe’s  winter  residence.  Her 
house  is  surrounded  by  a beautiful  orange  grove  and  she  is 
willing  to  present  every  northern  visitor  to  Mandarin  with  an 
orange,  //"the  visitor  happens  to  have  a dime  about  his  clothes. 

Two  miles  farther  up,  Orange  Park  is  situated.  A large 
amount  of  money  has  been  expended  here  by  the  owners  of 
the  tract  of  land  on  which  the  town  is  situated,  in  improving 
and  beautifying  it,  and  as  a result  a most  beautiful  picture  is 
presented  to  the  eye  of  the  visitor.  Hibernia,  Magnolia, 
Green  Cove  Springs  and  Picolata  are  passed  in  succession. 
They  are  all  pleasant  little  villages,  but  offer  very  little  of  real 
interest  beyond  their  abundant  and  prolific  orange  groves. 
Next  Pomes  Palatka,  which  we  reach  about  dark  and  where 
the  steamer  very  wisely  stops  over  night  in  order  to  allow  the 
tourists  to  make  the  entire  trip  by  daylight. 

This  is  an  old  town.  It  was  an  important  military  post 
during  the  Seminole  war.  It  has  eleven  hundred  inhabitants 
and  is  a very  handsome  town.  Game  is  abundant  in  this 
vicinity!  Deer  are  killed  within  five  miles  of  Palatka  all 
through  the  winter,  and  turkeys  are  found  by  going  a few  miles 
farther.  Quail  are  abundant  and  alligators  are  numerous  in 
the  river  and  adjacent  lakes  and  bayous. 

On  the  morning  of  the  17th  the  “ Pastime”  turned  back 
down  the  river  and  we  took  the  “ Georgea  ” for  the  completion 
of  the  trip.  At  seven  o’clock  a.  m.  we  were  underway.  Capt. 
Schoonmaker,  master  of  the  “ Georgea,”  informed  us  that  we 
would  find  plenty  of  game  from  this  point  up,  so  we  brought 
out  our  guns — Dr.  W.  his  shot-gun  and  I my  rifle.  We  took 
up  our  positions  on  the  quarter-deck  ready  for  business. 


174 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


We  had  gone  but  a few  miles  when  the  ladies,  who  occu- 
pied seats  in  the  pilot-house,  shouted,  “ There’s  an  alligator  ! ” 
We  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  and  there,  sure  enough, 
was  one  of  the  gigantic  saurians  lazily  swimming  across  the 
river,  some  two  hundred  yards  ahead  of  the  boat.  The 
captain  said  they  were  wild  and  that  he  would  not  let  us  come 
much  closer,  so  I opened  fire  on  him  and  in  quick  succession 
landed  three  bullets  in  such  close  proximity  to  his  eyes  that 
he  at  once  sank  out  of  sight. 

A few  miles  farther  up  we  sighted  another  lying  on  a log 
near  the  shore  about  a hundred  and  fifty  yards  away.  I 
adjusted  my  sights  to  the  distance  as  nearly  as  I could  esti- 
mate it,  but  distance  on  the  water  is  very  deceptive,  and  my 
first  ball  fell  a few  feet  short  of  him.  I elevated  a point  and 
the  second  went  a few  inches  over.  I then  lowered  half  a 
point,  and  the  third  went  through  him  just  behind  the  shoul- 
der. Then  there  was  a sport ! He  gave  us  such  a gymnastic 
exhibition  as  only  a wounded  ’gator  can  give.  He  first  tried 
to  stand  on  his  head,  then  he  tried  to  stand  on  his  tail.  Then 
apparently  tried  to  turn  himself  wrong  side  out.  Finally, 
recovering  temporarily  from  the  shock,  he  reached  the  water, 
and  was  lost  to  our  sight  forever. 

It  is  a well-known  fact  that  the  only  place  to  shoot  a 
’gator  and  make  him  lie  perfectly  still  is  in  the  head,  but  the 
distance  was  so  great  and  the  speed  of  the  boat  so  rapid  that 
I could  not  choose  so  small  a target.  If  hit  in  the  body  lie 
will  invariably  find  the  bottom  of  the  deepest  water  within 
half  a mile  before  he  dies. 

If  the  explosive  bullet  be  used,  however,  he  may  be 
stopped  suddenly  if  hit  almost  anywhere,  and  many  sports- 
men use  this  effective  missile  when  hunting  them.  Captain 
Schoonmaker  gave  us  some  amusing  accounts  of  shots  he  had 
witnessed  from  his  boat,  when  the  explosive  balls  were  used. 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


175 


In  one  instance  he  said  a passenger  was  shooting  a Sharp’s 
rifle  and  using  the  exposive  ball.  He  hit  a very  large  ’gator 
just  back  of  the  ear,  and  literally  lifted  the  whole  top  of  his 
head  off.  In  other  instances  he  hit  them  in  various  parts  of 
the  body,  and,  as  he  forcibly  described  it,  “ busted  them 
wide  open.” 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day  we  had  fine  sport  shoot- 
ing blue  herons,  white  egrets,  blue  and  white  ibises,  ducks, 
cormorants,  coot,  etc.,  but  owing  to  the  motion  of  the  bqat 
(she  made  about  fifteen  miles  an  hour)  I made  rather  a poor 
score  with  the  rifle.  The  Doctor  with  his  shot-gun  did  much 
better.  Game  is  very  abundant  all  along  the  river.  We  were 
told  by  numerous  settlers  at  the  various  landings  above 
Palatka,  and  with  such  candor  and  earnestness  that  we  were 
compelled  to  credit  the  reports,  that  the  deer  actually  destroy 
the  crops  of  corn  and  “ garden  truck  ” to  such  an  exten  t that 
the  farmers  have  to  hang  up  white  flags  and  other  conspicuous 
objects  in  their  fields  to  frighten  them  away.  In  some  cases 
they  even  poison  them  to  save  their  produce.  Most  of  this 
damage  is  of  course  done  at  night,  but  occasionally  they  come 
into  the  fields  in  daylight.  They  say  no  fence  will  turn  a 
deer ; that  he  will  go  over  a ten-rail  fence  as  easily  as  over  a 
log.  Venison  is  cheaper  all  along  the  river  than  beef,  and 
there  are  plenty  of  “ crackers”  (native  Floridians)  who  will 
contract  to  furnish  you  any  number  of  deer  per  week  and  ful- 
fill their  contract  to  the  letter. 

If  any  sportsman  wishes  to  engage  in  deer  hunting  all  he 
has  to  do  is  to  go  to  Welaka,  Norwalk,  Mount  Royal, 
Volusia,  Blue  Springs,  or,  in  fact,  almost  any  of  the  small 
landings  above  Palatka  and  employ  a “ cracker  ” at  a dollar 
a day,  who  will  put  him  on  a run-way  and  drive  the  deer  to 
him  until  his  appetite  for  this  kind  of  sport  is  appeased. 
Fire-hunting  is  the  most  popular  method  with  the  natives, 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


17G 

and  the  one  b which  they  take  most  of  their  venison  for 
mar  et. 

About  noon  on  the  17th,  we  reached  Lake  George,  a 
beautiful  sheet  of  water  through  which  the  river  flows.  It  is 
twelve  miles  wide  and  eighteen  miles  long.  There  is  an 
island  in  the  south  end  of  the  lake  covering  eighteen  hundred 
acres,  upon  which  is  one  of  the  oldest  orange  groves  in  the 
state.  It  was  planted  in  1824.  Most  of  the  original  trees 
are  still  vigorous  and  healthy,  and  are  bearing  full  crops  of 
fruit  every  year.  There  is  a house  on  the  island  that  was 
built  by  John  C.  Calhoun  in  about  1835. 

About  twenty  miles  above  Lake  George  we  find  the  village 
of  Manhattan,  where  William  Astor  has  a large  orange  grove 
and  from  whence  a railroad  is  being  built  across  the  country 
to  Lake  Eustace,  the  head  of  navigation  of  the  Oclawaha 
river.  At  six  o'’ clock  p.m.  we  reached  Lake  Monroe,  two 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  miles  above  Jacksonville,  and  the 
head  of  navigation  of  the  Saint  John’s  river  for  large  vessels. 
Small  ones  have,  however,  ascended  two  hundred  and 
seventy-five  miles  above  here. 

We  staid  overnight  at  Sanford,  a thriving  town  on  the 
south  shore  of  the  lake,  and  at  six  o’clock  the  next  morning 
we  again  boarded  the  “ Georgea  ” to  return  to  Jacksonville. 
A brisk  “ norther”  was  blowing  this  morning,  accompanied 
by  a cold,  driving  rain  that  rendered  the  cabin  far  more 
comfortable  than  the  open  deck,  so  we  oiled  our  guns  and 
laid  them  away.  But  time  did  not  drag,  for  the  captain 
entertained  us  with  many  interesting  stories  of  life  on  the  St. 
John’s.  He  says  he  frequently  has  as  many  as  twenty-five 
sportsmen  on  board  at  once,  armed  with  shot-guns,  rifles, 
revolvers,  etc.,  and  that  they  make  sad  havoc  among  the 
water-fowls,  ’gators,  etc.  That  if  a bird  escapes  the  fusilade 
that  is  opened  on  him  the  moment  he  appears  within  range, 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA.  1 11 

it  can  be  regarded  as  only  a miracle.  The  ’gators,  he  told 
us,  fare  no  better,  and  hundreds  of  each  are  killed  every 
winter,  and  still  there  is  no  perceptible  decrease  in  their 
number.  Many  of  the  latter  are  wounded  who  speedily 
recover.  He  thinks  there  is  not  an  alligator  on  the  river 
five  years  old  but  carries  twenty  to  thirty  pounds  of  lead  in 
his  carcass,  and  he  notices  that  it  is  very  difficult  for  some  of 
them  to  swim  with  even  their  noses  above  water,  on  account 
of  the  extra  ballast  they  carry.  He  told  us  of  one  old 
saurian  who  lives  in  and  around  Lake  George,  who  is  nearly 
thirty  feet  long,  whose  back  is  four  feet  broad,  whose  head  is 
as  large  as  a flour  barrel,. and  who  when  he  “ bellows,”  wakes 
all  the  natives  for  miles  around.  He  says  he  frequently  takes 
in  a hog,  deer,  deerhound  or  other  animal  as  he  attempts  to 
swim  across  the  river,  and  makes  a meal  off  him. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  stories  and  other  pastimes 
the  time  fled  rapidly,  until  at  six  p.m.  we  again  reached 
Palatka  and  tied  up  for  the  night.  Early  the  next  morning 
we  resumed  the  voyage.  From  here  we  had  as  a fellow  pas- 
senger the  Reverend  Dr.  Spalding,  of  Atlanta,  Ga.,  who  is 
an  enthusiastic  fisherman.  He  gave  us  a most  humorous 
account  of  an  experience  he  had  while  fishing  in  Mobile  Bay 
last  summer.  He  and  a friend  were  fishing  for  sea  trout  with 
excellent  success  but  were  greatly  annoyed  by  a large  fish  that 
kept  breaking  their  hooks.  They  procured  larger  hooks  and 
he  broke  those.  They  got  the  largest  the  tackle  dealer  had 
and  he  broke  those  with  equal  facility.  Then  they  went  to  a 
blacksmith,  and  had  him  make  some  hooks  of  quarter-inch 
steel  wire.  These  were  too  much  for  him,  but  he  now  got 
away  by  cutting  the  line.  Then  they  put  on  copper  wires 
for  leaders  and  used  a small-sized  clothes  line  for  the  main 
line,  baiting  with  a large-sized  mullet  cut  in  two.  This  time 
the  Doctor  said  he  fastened  him  sure  and  no  mistake.  He 
12 


1 V8  THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 

was  afraid  to  risk  his  strength  to  hold  Mr.  Fish  so  he  took  a 
hitch  around  a convenient  pile  to  let  him  play.  When 
slightly  tamed  the  Doctor  and  his  friend  doubled  on  the  line 
and  hauled  in  their  prize,  hand  over  hand.  When  landed  he 
proved  to  be  an  alligator  gar  six  feet  long,  and  weighing  a 
hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  The  Doctor  said  that  thereafter 
whenever  he  lost  a hook  he  at  once  baited  his  iron-clad  tackle 
with  a large  mullet,  and  brought  the  intruder  to  speedy 
justice.  By  the  time  the  Doctor  had  finished  his  story  we 
were  at  Focoi,  where  we  stopped  off  and  took  the  train  on 
the  St.  John’s  railway,  of  Florida,  for  St.  Augustine,  where 
we  arrived  an  hour  later. 

This  is  the  oldest  city  in  the  United  States,  and  a brief 
description  of  it  here  may  prove  of  interest  to  those  who  have 
never  strolled  through  its  dark,  narrow  streets  and  viewed  its 
antique,  strange  looking  walls.  It  is  bounded  on  the  north 
by  the  mainland,  and  on  the  east  by  the  North  river,  the 
harbor  entrance  and  the  Mantanzas  river,  with  Anastasia 
island  forming  the  breakwater,  and  on  the  south  and  west  by 
the  St.  Sebastian  river.  The  city  is  built  upon  the  point  that 
Avas  occupied  by  Menendez,  who  gave  it  the  name  of  St. 
Augustine,  as  he  arrived  there  on  the  day  dedicated  to  that 
saint. 

Its  present  population  is  about  2,200.  It  has  four  churches, 
one  of  which  was  built  in  1830  and  another  in  1832.  There 
are  four  first-class  hotels  here  and  several  second-class.  There 
are  four  principal  streets,  extending  the  entire  length  of  the 
city.  These  are  named  Tolomato,  St.  George,  Charlotte  and 
Bay.  Other  and  less  important  streets  are  called  Spanish, 
Marine,  Orange,  Redout,  Cuna,  Hipolata,  Treasury,  King, 
Artillery,  Green,  Bravois,  Bridge  and  St.  Francis.  These 
vary  in  width  from  twelve  to  thirty  feet.  The  old  Spanish 
residences  are  built  of  coquina,  a species  of  shell-rock,  that  is 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA.  179 

quarried  on  Anastasia  island.  Many  of  them  have  balconies, 
or,  as  they  are  called  here,  galleries,  all  along  their  second 
stories,  which  overhang  the  narrow  streets  and  give  to  the 
city  a most  quaint  and  antique  appearance.  There  are,  how- 
ever, many  modern  style  buildings,  both  residence  and 
business  houses,  some  of  the  former  having  large  and  elegant 
grounds.  One  of  the  most  interesting  points  in  the  city,  and 
the  one  first  visited  by  every  tourist,  is  old  Fort  Marion.  It 
stands  at  the  northeast  end  of  the  town,  and  commands  the 
inlet  from  the  sea.  It  is  also  built  of  coquina,  and  is  in  an 
excellent  state  of  preservation.  It  was  commenced  in  1520, 
and  completed  in  1756.  Its  first  name  was  “San  Juan  de 
Pinos,”  which  was  afterward  changed  to  “San  Marco,”  and 
upon  the  change  of  flags  in  1821,  it  was  given  its  present 
name.  It  covers  one  acre  of  ground,  and  has  accommoda- 
tion for  one  thousand  men  and  one  hundred  guns.  Over  the 
entrance  to  the  fort  is  the  Spanish  coat-of-arms  surmounted 
by  a globe  and  cross,  while  suspended  beneath  is  a lamb. 
From  the  interior  of  the  hollow  square  formed  by  the  walls 
are  entrances  to  a number  of  dungeons,  in  which  it  is  sup- 
posed the  Spanish  authorities  confined  their  prisoners.  In 
one  of  these  the  skeletons  of  two  human  beings  were 
discovered  in  1846,  one  of  which  is  now  in  the  Smithsonian 
Institution  in  Washington,  together  with  the  iron  cage  in 
which  it  was  enclosed  when  found.  The  fort  is  twenty-one 
feet  high.  There  are  bastioned  angles  at  each  of  the  four 
corners,  which  are  surmounted  with  sentry-boxes  and  lookout 
towers.  The  moat  or  ditch  surrounding  the  fort  is  forty  feet 
wide  and  ten  feet  deep.  It  was  flooded  from  the  St.  Sebastian 
river.  There  are  inner  and  outer  barriers,  the  barbican, 
drawbridge,  portcullis,  wicket  and  all  the  appliances  of  the 
European  castles  of  the  middle  ages. 

During  the  Seminole  war  many  prisoners  were  confined 


180 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


here,  among  whom  were  Osceola  and  Coacoochee,  noted 
chiefs.  It  was  frequently  used  during  the  early  history  of  the 
state  as  a place  of  refuge  for  the  citizens  of  the  town  and 
vicinity  in  time  of  Indian  outbreaks. 

Another  of  the  ancient  landmarks  is  the  Sea  Wall,  which 
was  originally  built  by  the  Spaniards  in  1690,  and  rebuilt  by 
the  United  States  government  in  1837.  It  is  also  built  of 
coquina,  with  a coping  of  granite  four  feet  wide  and  about 
eight  inches  thick. 

The  Catholic  cathedral  was  erected  in  1793,  and  is  still  in 
a tolerable  state  of  preservation  inside,  though  the  hand  of 
time  has  dealt  roughly  with  the  exterior.  It  is  surmounted  by 
a quaint  Moorish  belfry,  with  four  bells  set  in  separate  niches, 
which,  together  with  the  clock,  form  a complete  cross.  One 
of  the  bells  bears  date  1682,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been 
taken  from  the  ruins  of  a church  which  previously  stood  on 
St.  George  street.  At  the  north  end  of  the  city  stands  the 
city  gate,  another  very  interesting  relic  of  past  ages.  It  has 
recently  been  repaired,  but  portions  of  it  still  remain  as 
originally  left  by  the  old  Spanish  masons  hundreds  of  years 
ago.  It  is  the  only  remaining  relic  of  a wall  supposed  to 
have  surrounded  the  city  in  its  early  days.  It  is  a most  im- 
posing and  interesting  structure— is  ornamented  with  lofty 
towers,  loop-holes  and  sentry-boxes,  all  well  preserved.  The 
“ Plaza  de  la  Constitution,”  is  a small  park  situated  in  the 
center  of  the  town,  with  seats,  walks,  shade-trees,  etc.,  simi- 
lar to  those  of  our  modern  parks.  In  one  end  of  the  square 
stands  the  monument  erected  in  1812,  in  commemoration  of 
the  Spanish  Liberal  Constitution.  It  bears  an  inscription  in 
Spanish,  a translation  of  which  is  as  follows  : 

“ Just  before  the  session  of  Florida  to  the  United  States, 
the  king  of  Spain  granted  a liberal  charter  to  the  citizens  of 
St.  Augustine  and  of  Florida,  and  this  monument  is  a memo- 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


1S1 


rial  erected  by  the  Spanish  citizens  of  St.  Augustine.  The 
date  of  this  constitution  was  the  17th  of  October,  1812.” 

In  the  other  end  stands  the  monument  to  the  Confederate 
dead,  erected  in  1866. 

St.  Augustine  will  for  years  to  come  be  to  the  student  of 
antiquity  one  of  the  most  interesting  places  on  the  continent. 
It  is,  moreover,  a popular  resort  for  invalids,  tourists  and 
pleasure-seekers  of  all  classes,  and  it  is  estimated  that  during 
the  winter  of  1878-9  it  was  visited  by  twelve  thousand  stran- 
gers. 


CHAPTER  XX 


THE  GULF  OF  MEXICO. 

OFF  FOR  SARASOTA  BAY  — A ROYAL  KINGFISH  LANDED  ON  DECK  — A 
WHITE  CLOTH  BAIT  — A HERON  ROOKERY  — MR.  MOORE  A REAL 
DEER-SLAYER  — VARIETIES  OF  FISH — TAMPA — DR.  J.  P.  WALL — FIVE 
HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  ACRES  OF  ORANGE  TREES  — A GRAND  CHANCE 
FOR  SETTLERS  — 8,000,000  ORANGES  A YEAR  — A GRAND  RESORT  FOR 
INVALIDS. 

“ Haul  in  that  bow  line!  ” “Let  go  that  stern  line!” 
“All  ready,  Pilot,  stand  out  — head  ‘sou’ -west’  by  west ! ” 
Such  were  the  commands  given  by  Captain  Jackson,  of 
the  good  steamship  “Valley  City,”  to  his  subordinates,  on 
Sunday  afternoon,  November  23d,  as  we  let  go  the  wharf  at 
Cedar  Key  and  which  fell  like  sweet  music  upon  our  anxious 
ears,  for  we  were  now  embarked  for  a voyage  upon  the  grand 
old  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

From  my  boyhood  I have  read  and  heard,  with  increas- 
ing interest,  of  this  great  body  of  water  which  sits  majes- 
tically enthroned  at  the  southern  end  of  our  continent, 
between  the  states  of  Florida  and  Texao,  and  backed  on  the 
north  by-  Louisiana;  but  never  until  to-day  have  I been  per- 
mitted to  view  it  in  its  supreme  beauty,  face  to  face. 

Our  destination  is  Sarasota  Bay,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  south  of  Cedar  Key,  and  we  have  heard  so  much  of  the 
vast  resources  of  that  locality  in  the  way  of  tropical  fruits, 
rich  tropical- scenery,  balmy  atmosphere,  and,  above  all,  in 
fish  and  game,  that  our  hearts  bound  with  gratitude  at  the 
thought  that  we  are  now  on  the  homeward  stretch  toward  it. 
However,  time  does  not  drag  by  any  means,  for  a voyage  .on 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


183 


the  Gulf  must  always  have  its  charms,  and  when  accompanied 
by  a companion  possessing  so  many  of  the  attributes  of  a 
perfect  womanhood  as  does  my  better-half,  who  accompanies 
me  on  this  trip,  it  is  rendered  doubly  delightful.  Then  to 
add  to  the  pleasures  of  the  trip  still  more  we  soon  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Captain  Jackson  and  Purser  Swingley,  of  the 
“Valley  City,”  whom  we  find  to  be  gentlemen  in  the  highest 
sense  of  that  term.  They  improve  every  opportunity  to  con- 
tribute to  the  comfort  of  their  passengers,  and  are  ever  ready 
to  give  any  desired  information  regarding  points  of  interest 
along  the  coast. 

A few  miles  out  of  port,  as  we  sat  upon  the  forecastle, 
enjoying  the  beautiful  scenery  before  us  and  chatting  pleas- 
antly with  the  captain,  the  steward  of  the  vessel  came  and 
called  us  to  the  quarter-deck  to  see  a kingfish  he  had  caught. 
We  responded  with  alacrity,  and  were  rewarded  with  a view 
of  a magnificent  specimen  of  this  noble  fish  which  he  had 
just  landed  on  deck.  He  was  twenty-eight  inches  long  and 
weighed  thirteen  pounds.  He  is  appropriately  named,  for 
he  is  certainly  the  king  of  the  finny  tribe.  He  bears  some 
resemblance,  in  general  shape,  to  the  Northern  lake  trout,  but 
has  a slimmer  and  handsomer  head.  His  back  is  of  a rich, 
dark-green  tint,  changing  to  a lighter  shade  along  the  sides, 
while  the  belly  is  nearly  white.  The  scales  are  very  small. 
The  flesh  is  fine  in  texture  and  of  a delicious  flavor.  It 
grows  to  a great  size,  frequently  measuring  four  feet  in  length, 
and  weighing  thirty  to  forty  pounds.  They  are  frequently 
caught  by  trolling  from  these  gulf  steamers  with  one  hundred 
to  two  hundred  feet  of  line.  No  bait  or  even  spoon  is  used. 
They  are  attracted  simply  by  a piece  of  white  cloth  tied  on 
the  hook.  They  are  very  gamy  when  hooked  and  make  a 
most  obstinate  fight,  frequently  jumping  to  a height  of  ten 
feet  above  the  water. 


184 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


We  returned  to  the  forecastle  and  spent  the  remainder  of 
the  afternoon  pleasantly.  We  retired  early  at  night  in  order 
to  rise  early  and  enjoy  that  novel  and  beautiful  sight,  a sun- 
rise on  the  water.  At  one  o’clock  a.m.  we  reached  Egmont 
Light,  which  stands  upon  a small  island  called  Egmont  Key. 
Here  the  steamer  tied  up  until  day,  when  the  captain  sent  the 
steward  to  call  us  and  say  that  he  would  give.us  an  hour  to 
take  a walk  upon  the  beach. 

We  gladly  availed  ourselves  of  the  opportunity,  and  after 
partaking  of  a cup  of  hot  coffee  served  in  our  stateroom,  hur- 
ried out  and  beheld  a most  lovely  picture.  Egmont  Key  is  a 
picturesque  little  isle  half  a mile  wide  and  one  and  a half  miles 
long.  The  government  lighthouse  and  light-keeper’s  residence 
are  handsome  and  substantial  structures.  We  found  Mr. 
Moore,  the  light-keeper,  an  intelligent,  kind-hearted  and  hos- 
pitable gentleman.  He  gave  us  some  interesting  information 
concerning  this  island  and  others  in  the  vicinity.  He  says 
there  is  a heron  rockery  on  the  island  only  half  a mile  from 
his  house  where  the  birds  annually  build  their  nests  and  rear 
their  young.  Last  year  there  were  five  hundred  nests  there. 
He  estimates  that  each  nest  produced  on  an  average  five  birds, 
making  the  total  crop  two  thousand  five  hundred.  He  con- 
siders them  his  pets,  and  will  not  allow  them  to  be  shot  or  dis- 
turbed in  any  way. 

Mullett  Key,  two  miles  northeast,  is  the  home  of  a large 
herd  of  deer,  and  Mr.  Moore  goes  over  there  and  kills  one  at 
any  time  when  he  wishes  some  fresh  venison.  _ Mr.  Moore  is 
an-  enthusiastic  sportsman,  by  the  way,  and  I am  informed, 
that  he  has  killed  one  hundred  and  ninety-three  deer  in  the 
past  two  years. 

During  our  walk  around  the  island  we  found  many  won- 
ders of  the  deep  in  the  way  of  shells,  fishes,  etc.  A cold 
norther  had  prevailed  for  two  days  previously,  and  many  of 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


185 


the  more  delicate  fish  having  approached  too  near  the  beach 
in  quest  of  food,  were  paralyzed  by  the  cold  air  and  swept 
ashore  by  the  surf.  Among  the  curious  specimens  we  picked 
up,  I note  the  cow-fish,  sea-horse,  rock-fish,  dog-fish,  lamper- 
•gel,  three  varieties  .of  the  toad-fish,  etc.  We  also  collected 
many  specimens,  shells,  coral,  sea-moss  and  sponges. 

The  time  for  our  departure  having  now  arrived,  we  re- 
luctantly returned  to  the  steamer.  On  our  departure,  Mr. 
Moore  gave  us  a pressing  invitation  to  visit  him  on  our  re- 
turn and  spend  several  days  on  the  island  as  his  guests.  We 
sincerely  hope  to  be  able  to  accept,  for  it  is  a most  fasci- 
nating place,  and  we  feel  confident  that  we  could  spend  a few 
days  here  both  pleasantly  and  profitably. 

Five  miles  up  the  bay  we  met  the  steamer  “ Lizzie  Hen- 
derson,” of  the  same  line.  The  two  steamers  lashed  to- 
gether when  we  transferred  to  her  our  Key  West  passengers, 
mail  and  freight,  after  which  she  sailed  for  that  port  and 
we  for  Tampa,  where  we  arrived  at  three  o’clock  that  after- 
noon. 

This  is  a pleasant  little  city  of  1,800  inhabitants,  situated 
at  the  head  of  Tampa  Bay  and  mouth  of  the  Hillsborough 
river.  It  is  the  county  seat  of  Hillsborough  county,  and  is 
one  of  the  most  enterprising  towns  of  its  size  in  the  state.  It 
is  the  headquarters  of  the  Tampa  Steamship  Company,  who 
run  a line  of  steamers  from  here  to  Cedar  Key,  one  from 
Cedar  Key  to  Key  West,  and  one  from  New  Orleans  to 
Havana  via  Cedar  Key,  all  carrying  the  United  States  mails. 
During  the  cattle-shipping  season  the  Cedar  Key  and  Key 
West  line  also  runs  to  Havana.  The  cattle  interest  is  a very 
important  one  to  this  portion  of  Florida.  Over  1,500  head 
were  shipped  from  this  point  alone  during  the  past  summer, 
besides  large  numbers  from  other  points  a few  miles  south  of 
here.  There  are  thousands  of  acres  of  wild  lands  lying  adja- 


186 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


cent  to  the  coast,  which  furnish  rich  pasturage  for  cattle 
winter  and  summer.  They  are  never  fed  or  cared  for  at  any 
time.  The  owner  simply  turns  his  young  cattle  or  breeders 
into  the  woods  with  his  brand  on  them,  and  once  a year 
thereafter — -generally  in  May  or  June — starts  out  with  a force 
of  men  on  horseback,  brands  the  calves,  collects  and  corralls 
the  fat  cattle  for  shipment.  Several  stock-raisers  on  this 
coast  have  from  500  to  1,000  head  of  cattle  in  the  woods  all 
the  time.  Havana  is  their  principal  market,  a few  head  only 
being  shipped  to  Key  West  each  year.  Next  in  importance 
to  cattle  growing  comes  the  orange  trade. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  Dr.  J.  P.  Wall,  editor  of  the 
Sunland  Tribune , I took  a pleasant  ride  in  company  with 
him  through  the  country  adjacent  to  the  village,  and  was 
thereby  given  an  idea  of  the  extent  and  number  of  its  orange 
groves.  We  went  east  on  Florida  avenue,  one  of  the  principal 
roads  leading  into  the  country,  a distance  of  two  miles, 
returned  to  within  a mile  of  town  where  we  entered  Michigan 
avenue,  upon  which  we  went  south  to  Nebraska  avenue.  W e 
then  rode  east  again  three  miles  and  returned  to  town.  In 
riding  over  these  few  miles  we  saw  about  five  hundred  and 
fifty  acres  of  orange  trees.  Many  of  these  are  young  and 
have  not  yet  come  into  bearing,  while  many  others  are 
annually  yielding  large  crops  of  fruit.  The  majority  of  the 
groves  contain  ten  acres  each,  though  others  are  much  larger, 
some  reaching  fifty  or  more  acres.  Each  grove  has  with  it  a 
neat  cottage  house,  garden,  outbuildings,  and  a few  lemon, 
lime,  banana  and  other  fruit-trees.  New  groves  are  being 
planted  each  year,  where  the  year  before  stood  the  tall  pine- 
trees,  bidding  defiance  to  the  aggressive  hand  of  the  sturdy 
woodman,  and  it  is  interesting  to  contemplate  what  a vast  city 
will  in  twenty  years  from  to-day  stretch  away  back  from  the 
beach  of  Tampa  bay,  with  ten  to  twenty  acres  in  each  lot, 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


187 


with  princely  residences,  broad  avemies  and  rich  orange 
groves  to  the  portion  of  each  resident. 

Such  is  the  certain  future  of  this  city,  for  new  settlers  are 
coming  in  each  year,  hailing  from  every  state  in  the  Union, 
and  each  bringing  nerve,  energy  and  money  to  the  task. 
There  are  several  families  here  from  Maine,  others  from  Ne- 
braska, Illinois,  Kentucky,  etc.  Nearly  all  arc  prospering 
and  writing  to  their  friends  to  come  and  join  them.  As  an 
instance  of  what  may  be  accomplished  here  : one  man  took  a 
homestead  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  in  the  midst  of  a 
pine  forest  a few  years  ago,  built  a neat  cottage  house,  cleared 
off  acre  after  acre,  and  planted  each  with  orange  trees.  He 
has  recently  been  offered  $6,000  cash  for  his  house  and  six 
acres  of  land  adjacent. 

Over  six  million  oranges  were  shipped  from  this  point  last 
year,  and  the  indications  are  that  nearly  eight  millions  will 
be  shipped  the  present  year.  Notwithstanding  the  success 
these  people  have  achieved,  I would  not  advise  any  one 
to  come  to  Florida  and  engage  in  orange  culture  until  he  has 
counted  well  the  cost.  Many  have  tried  it  and  failed — some 
for  want  of  energy  and  determination,  some  for  want  of 
proper  knowledge  of  the  business  and  others  for  lack  of 
means  to  prosecute  it  to  a successful  issue.  A cash  capital 
of  at  least  two  thousand  dollars  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
start  oh  if  a ten-acre  grove  is  to  be  made.  More  than  this 
sum  will  be  needed,  but  it  can  be  accomplished  for  this' if 
proper  economy  be  practiced.  Then  a great  deal  of  hard 
work  will  be  required.  Help  can  be  employed  to  do  this  if 
the  settler  has  sufficient  means ; if  not  he  must  do  it  himself. 
Some  people  may  not  like  the  climate — the  long  summers  or 
the  dry,  warm  winters.  When  these  features  are  considered 
I would  say  to  any  one  wishing  to  engage  in  orange  growing, 
who  finds  himself  possessed  of  the  above-mentioned  requi- 


188 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


sites,  and  who  wishes  to  live  in  a climate  of  perpetual 
summer,  go  at  once  to  Tampa,  or  at  least  to  the  Gulf  coast. 
I consider  it  far  superior  to  the  eastern  coast  or  the  St.  John’s 
River  district,  after  having  studied  both  portions  of  the  state 
impartially. 

As  a resort  for  invalids,  I consider  the  Gulf  coast  also  far 
superior  to  the  eastern.  The  Gulf  winds  are  much  milder 
and  more  temperate  and  the  changes  of  temperature  not 
nearly  so  sudden  or  radical.  I would,  therefore,  most  emphati- 
cally advise  all  who  suffer  from  pulmonary  diseases  to  visit 
the  Gulf  coast  in  preference  to  any  other  portion  of  the  state. 

What  Tampa  most  needs  is  a government  appropriation 
for  the  improvement  of  her  harbor.  There  is  a bar  across  the 
bay  near  the  mouth  of  the  river  that  prevents  vessels  of  any 
size  from  reaching  the  city  wharf.  They  have  to  anchor 
three  miles  out  and  transfer  freight  and  passengers  in  small 
boats.  Colonel  J.  L.  Meigs,  under  the  direction  of  the 
Bureau  of  Navigation,  recently  surveyed  a channel  across 
this  bar,  and  estimated  the  cost  of  cutting  it  to  such  a depth 
as  to  give  eleven  feet  of  water  at  low  tide,  at  $80,000.  In 
view  of  the  importance  of  the  improvement  to  gulf  naviga- 
tion, Congress  should  by  all  means  make  the  appropriation. 

A railroad  has  been  in  course  of  construction  for  several 
years  past  from  Gainesville,  a station  on  the  Transit  railroad, 
to  Tampa,  a distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles ; but  as 
only  a small  amount  of  work  has  been  done  each  year,  the 
people  are  greatly  dissatisfied  with  the  management  and  an 
effort  will  probably  be  made  to  annul  the  charter  at  the  next 
session  of  the  legislature  and  give  the  right  to  some  other 
company  who  will  build  the  road  without  delay.  It  is  greatly 
needed  by  the  section  of  country  through  which  it  is  to  pass, 
and  will  prove  of  inestimable  benefit  to  Tampa,  when  com- 
pleted. 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


189 


This  point  offers  many  attractions  to  sportsmen.  Excel- 
lent fishing  may  be  had  in  the  mouth  of  the  river  and  in  the 
bay.  Sea-trout,  red  snappers,  mangrove  snappers,  and 
sheepshead  are  the  varieties  usually  caught.  Good  duck  and 
bay-bird  shooting  may  be  had  near  town,  and  by  going 
fifteen  to  twenty  miles  into  the  country  deer  and  turkeys  may 
be  found  in  liberal  numbers.  Judge  Mitchell,  who  is  an 
enthusiastic  sportsman,  is  ever  ready  to  give  all  desired 
information  regarding  the  best  shooting  and  fishing  grounds. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


SNEAD’S  ISLAND. 

GREAT  SCHOOLS  OF  MULLET  — SOLID  ACRES  OF  FISH  — SNEAD’S  ISLAND  A 
GRAND  FISHERY — “THERE’S  MILLIONS  IN  IT!”  — WE  “ SMOLE  ” 
AUDIBLY  — ON  BOARD  THE  “SKY  LARK  THE  MANGROVE  — 
MR.  WEBB — A PARADISE  FOR  BOTANISTS  — CENTURY  PLANTS  IN 
BLOOM  — FISHING — MACKEREL  SIXTEEN  INCHES  LONG,  WEIGHING 
THREE  POUNDS. 

We  enjoyed  a pleasant  sail  down  Tampa  Bay  on  the 
morning  of  November  27th,  on  board  the  steamer  “Valley 
City.”  The  most  interesting  incident  of  the  trip  was  the 
great  schools  of  mullet  we  saw  on  the  shoals  off  Snead’s  Island, 
near  the  mouth  of  Manatee  river.  Without  any  exaggeration 
there  were  solid  acres  of  them  feeding  on  these  shoals,  and 
they  were  as  close  together  as  they  could  possibly  swim.  At 
some  points  they  were  in  such  shallow  water  that  their  back 
fins  and  the  upper  rays  of  their  tails  were  out  of  the  water. 
As  they  feed  here,  a seine  three  hundred  feet  long,  skillfully 
handled,  would  catch,  at  a low  estimate,  ten  to  twenty  barrels 
of  fish  at  every  haul,  and  they  were,  not  here  in  unusual 
numbers  at  this  time,  either.  Captain  Jackson  informed  me 
that  it  is  no  unusual  thing  to  see  twice  or  thrice  the  number 
at  this  point,  that  we  saw  on  this  trip.  He  says  he  frequently 
finds  the  water  literally  black  with  them,  for  a distance  of  two 
or  three  miles  along  this  beach. 

This  story  may  sound  decidedly  “ fishy,”  but  every  word 
of  it  can  be  corroborated  by  a dozen  people  who  reside  in  the 
vicinity,  and  by  any  of  the  officers  of  the  Tampa  Steamship 
Company. 


190 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


191 


I am  astonished  that  some  one  has  not  established  a com- 
mercial fishery  on  this  island,  long  ago.  Thousands  of  barrels 
of  this  most  delicious  fish  could  be  packed  here  every  winter, 
at  a merely  nominal  expense,  and  they  always  find  a ready 
market  and  command  a fair  price  in  the  northern  and  eastern 
cities.  Some  enterprising  party,  with  a.  taste  for  such  a 
pursuit,  should  secure  this  opportunity  without  delay.  In  the 
language  of  Mulberry  Sellers,  “There’s  millions  in  it.” 

Soon  after  leaving  Snead’s  Island  we  entered  the  mouth 
of  the  Manatee  river,  up  which  we  made  a run  of  eight  miles, 
when  we  arrived  at  the  village  of  Manatee,  a lively  little  town 
of  some  two  or  three  hundred  inhabitants.  W e stopped  over 
night  at  the  Turner  House,  a comfortable  hotel,  and  early  in 
the  morning  Captain  Harlee,  a merchant  of  the  place,  sent  his 
team  to  take  us  to  Mr.  Whitaker’s  plantation,  on  Sarasota  Bay, 
twelve  miles  below. 

The  road  runs  through  a belt  of  pine-woods,  dotted  thickly 
with  ponds,  covering  from  one  to  twenty  acres  each,  the 
margins  thickly  grown  with  saw-grass,  and  in  the  center  a 
pool  of  clear  water.  We  came  upon  the  first  of  these  ponds, 
within  half  a mile  of  town,  and  saw  in  it  a dozen  or  more  of 
the  large  water  birds  which  are  so  numerous  in  this  state.  I 
brought  out  my  rifle  and  bagged  a beautiful  white  ibis.  A mile 
farther  on  we  came  to  another  pond.  A large  white  egret  sat 
near  the  center  of  it,  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  away. 
I drew  a bead  on  him,  let  go,  and  he  immediately  sat  down. 

The  driver,  a good-natured  negro,  got  out,  rolled  up  his 
pants,  and  waded  in  to  get  the  game.  The  bird  proved  to  be 
only  winged,  and  showed  fight.  He  struck  out  vigorously 
several  times,  but  the  plucky  negro  finally  secured  him,  took 
him  by  the  head  and  started  for  shore  with  him.  Reader,  you 
would  have  smiled  to  see  that  darky  teaching  that  bird  to 
follow.  It  was  a most  ridiculous  sight.  We  “ smole  ” 


192 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


audibly  The  bird  objected  to  that  mode  of  travel  at  first, 
but  soon  succumbed  to  the  inevitable  and  followed  as  obe- 
diently as  Mary’s  little  lamb  is  said  to  have  done.  He  was  a 
beautiful  specimen  of  the  species,  and  measured  five  feet  nine 
inches  from  tip  to  tip  of  wings,  and  four  feet  seven  inches  in 
height. 

W e passed  a dozen  or  more  of  these  ponds  during  the  day, 
and  at  each  of  them  I got  a shot,  making  a very  handsome 
bag,  considering  that  I was  “ going  somewhere  ” and  not  on  a 
regular  hunt.  ■ 

We  arrived  at  Mr.  Whitaker’s  house  about  noon,  and 
remained  until  the  next  morning.  Mr.  Whitaker  is  one  of 
the  oldest  settlers  on  the  Gulf  coast,  having  first  settled  here 
in  1844.  He  has  a large  comfortable  house,- well  finished  and 
furnished,  a large  orange  grove,  and  is  extensively  engaged  in 
cattle  raising.  He  has  over  seven  hundred  head  on  the  range 
and  sells  from  two  to  three  hundred  head  each  year.  In  the 
evening  I engaged  Maurice  Lancaster,  a boy  fifteen  years  old, 
son  of  Mr.  Israel  Lancaster,  who  lives  five  miles  below,  to 
take  us  in  his  sail  boat  to  Mr.  Webb’s  plantation,  twelve 
miles  farther  down  the  coast.  Accordingly,  early  on  Friday 
morning  the  “ Sky  Lark,”  with  Captain  Maurice  at  the  helm, 
landed  at  Whitaker’s  beach.  We  hurriedly  loaded  our 
trunks,  other  luggage  and  ourselves  into  the  vessel,  spread 
sail  and  stood  out  down  the  bay  under  a fair  wind  and  with 
buoyant  hearts,  for  we  were  now  on  that  famous  portion  of 
the  coast  of  which  we  had  heard  so  much,  from  which  we 
anticipated  such  rich  sport,  and  in  which,  as  the  sequel  will 
show,  we  were  not  to  be  disappointed. 

Whenever  we  pass  over  shoals  where  the  water  is  less  than 
six  or  eight  feet  deep,  we  see  myriads  of  beautiful  fish  of 
various  kinds,  among  which  are  mangrove  snappers,  red-fish, 
sheepshead,  mullet,  drum-fish,  grunters  and  many  others. 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


193 


Occasionally  some  of  the  great  monsters  of  the  deep  show 
themselves  to  our  eager  eyes.  A ray-fish  as  large  as  the  head 
of  a hogshead,  and  weighing  probably  a hundred  pounds,  is 
aroused  from  its  bed  in  the  sand  by  the  near  approach  of  our 
boat  and  swims  rapidly  away,  dragging  after  it  a tail  resem- 
bling in  form  a whiplash.  This  tail  is  only  an  inch  and  a half 
in  diameter  at  the  base  and  is  from  three  to  four  feet  long. 

Farther  on  a monster  shark,  seven  or  eight  feet  long, 
swims  boldly  alongside  of  our  boat,  apparently  curious  to 
know  who  it  is  that  thus  invades  his  domain.  If  we  had  had 
a harpoon  on  board  we  could  have  satisfied  his  curiosity  in  a 
way  he  would  not  have  liked. 

Five  miles  below  Mr.  Whitaker’s,  Maurice  landed  at  his 
father’s  house  to  get  his  blanket  and  some  provisions  for 
camping,  thinking  it  possible  we  might  be  delayed  and  have 
to  camp  out  over  night. 

Two  miles  below  this  point  we  passed  Captain  Young’s 
boat-house.  He  builds  small  yachts,  sloops  and  schooners 
and  sells  them  to  settlers  along  the  coast.  About  noon  we 
entered  the  mangrove  thickets,  which  reach  clear  across  the 
bay  at  this  point,  with  only  narrow  passes  winding  through 
them,  and  which  at  low  tide  are  very  difficult  to  navigate, 
even  with  small  skiffs.  But  fortunately  we  entered  them  at 
high  tide,  and  this,  together  with  the  fact  that  Captain  Mau- 
rice knows  every  foot  of  the  passes  and  handles  a pole 
extremely  well,  enabled  us  to  go  through  them  with  flying 
colors. 

* This  mangrove  is  a strange  shrub.  It  grows  only  in  or 
near  salt  water.  The  stem  grows  up  to  a height  of  one  to  two 
feet  when  a few  limbs  branch  out ; a few  inches  farther  up  two 
or  three  roots  will  put  out  and  seek  the  earth.  Farther  up 
more  limbs  shoot  out,  still  farther  up  more  roots,  and  so  on 
until  limbs,  roots  and  main  stems  are  mixed  up  in  one  almost 
13 


194 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


indistinguishable  mass.  Where  it  stands  thickly  upon  the 
ground  it  forms  a jungle  that  even  a dog  can  scarcely  pene- 
trate. After  passing  these  mangrove  thickets  we  had  plain 
sailing  for  awhile,  just  below  them  we  passed  some  long 
sand-bars,  upon  which  were  feeding  great  flocks  of  Spanish 
curlews,  both  straight-bill  and  sickle-bill,  millet,  white- 
breasted plover,  and  other  varieties  of  bay  birds. 

A good  wing  shot  could  enjoy  rare  sport  here,  but  I am 
in  search  of  larger  game  and  will  not  trouble  these  birds. 

About  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  we  came  upon  a 
series  of  oyster  bars  which  extends  clear  across  the  bay  and 
nearly  two  miles  up  and  down  it.  The  tide  had  gone  out  by 
this  time  and  \ve  had  some  very  had  work  poling  and  occa- 
sionally wading,  dragging  and  lifting  our  boat  over  the  worst 
portions  of  the  bars:  Perseverance,  however,  won  the  battle 

and  we  succeeded  in  getting  over. 

We  arrived  at  Mr.  Webb’s  house  just  as  night  set  in,  and 
were  given  a most  cordial  greeting,  although  we  were  entire 
strangers  to  the  family.  Such  kind  and  hospitable  treatment 
as  we  received,  and  such  a clean,  wholesome,  palatable  sup- 
per as  we  were  treated  to  that  night,  made  us  glad  in  our 
hearts  that  we  had  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  directed  to  and 
finally  to  reach  the  home  of  these  kind-hearted  people. 
They  are  natives  of  Utica,  New  York,  where  Mr.  John  G. 
Webb,  the  head  of  the  family,  was  engaged  in  the  drug  busi- 
ness for  many  years.  They  came  here  twelve  years  ago. 
Mr.  Webb  owns  a large  tract  of  land  and  has  a large,  com- 
fortable farm-house  and  ample  outbuildings.  He  has  chosen 
for  his  residence  one  of  the  most  romantic  and  beautiful 
spots  in  the  state,  or,  for  that  matter,  in  any  state.  It  is  a nar- 
row point  of  land  ranging  from  one  to  two  hundred  yards 
wide  and  extending  into  the  bay  nearly  a quarter  of  a 
mile.  It  contains  about  five  acres  of  land.  There  is 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


195 


a high  shell  mound  near  the  center  of  the  tract,  and 
on  this  mound  Mr.  Webb’s  house  stands.  The  point  is  cov- 
ered with  native  and  cultivated  shrubs,  plants,  etc.  Shades 
of  Agassiz,  what  a paradise  for  a botanist!  Within  the  space 
of  this  five  acres  may  be  found  West  India  birch,  papaya,  two 
varieties  of  palmetto,  the  date  palm,  red  cedar,  live  oak, 
American  aloe  or  century  plant,  yucca  or  Spanish  bayonet, 
bird  pepper,  winterberry,  Spanish  stoppor,  mimosa,  sea  bean, 
iponacea,  madeira  vine,  several  species  of  convolvulus,  several 
of  euphorbiaca,  two  of  cactus,  mershalline,  verbesina,  verno- 
nia,  sea  myrtle,  grape  vine  and  ivy  of  several  varieties,  big- 
nonia,  soap  wort,  sugar  berry,  prickly  ash,  sea-ash,  matich 
plum,  crow  berry,  Indian  fig,  or  India  rubber  tree,  black,  red 
and  white  mangrove,  buttonwood,  sea  grape,  and  many 
others.  Several  of  the  century  plants  have  bloomed  since 
Mr.  Webb  has  lived  here.  In  some  instances  the  stock 
bearing  the  flower  has  grown  to  a height  of  thirty  feet.  In 
a few  days  after  blooming,  the'  plant  dies. 

The  windows  on  the  north  and  south  sides  of  the  house 
command  a beautiful  view  of  the  bay,  and  from  those  in  the 
west  end  you  may  look  away  across  Sarasota  Key  and  miles 
out  upon  the  Gulf.  Steamers  and  sail  vessels  may  be  seen 
'almost  any  hour  in  the  day.  We  had  scarcely  entered  the 
house  when  Mr.  Webb  commenced  the  task  of  destroying  my 
night’s  rest  by  telling  me  that  the  deer  were  eating  up  the 
sweet-potato  vines  at  the  homes  of  his  two  sons-in-law,  only  a 
mile  from  here  in  opposite  directions,  and  that  they  would  be 
very  glad  to  have  them  killed  off ; that  sand-hill  cranes,  white 
egrets,  ibises,  etc.,  were  plentiful  around  the  ponds  from  one 
to  three  miles  from  his  house ; that  on  South  Creek,  three 
miles  away,  alligators  are  numerous ; that  his  two  sons  who 
are  now  away  from  home,  but  will  return  in  a day  or  two,  are 
enthusiastic  and  successful-  sportsmen,  and  that  they  will  be 


196 


THE  CULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


glad  to  pilot  me  to  all  the  best  shooting  and  fishing  grounds 
in  the  neighborhood ; that  they  will  go  with  me  fire-hunting 
and  fire-fishing  at  night,  and  many  other  things  equally  in- 
jurious to  the  mental  equilibrium  of  so  enthusiastic  a devotee 
of  the  rod  and  gun  as  myself.  We  spent  the  evening 
discussing  these  andk  other  interesting  topics,  until  eleven 
o’clock,  when  we  retired  for  the  night.  I dreamed  all  night 
of  hunting  deer  and  fishing,  and  many  were  the  noble  speci- 
mens of  the  antlered  and  finny  tribe  that  fell  victims  to  my 
prowess  that  night. 

I arose  at  day  light  the  next  morning  and  called  Captain 
Lancaster  on  deck.  He 'responded  promptly  and  accepted 
my  invitation  to  remain  with  me  and  spend  a day  or  two 
fishing.  We  rigged  our  tackle  and  after  a square  breakfast 
hastily  eaten,  boarded  the  “Sky  Lark,”  and  sailed  across  the 
bay  into  Little  Sarasota  Pass,  for  our  first  day’s  fishing.  As 
soon  as  we  entered  the  Pass  I attached  an  artificial  minnow 
to  my  line  and  cast  out  for  a troll.  I had  scarcely  reeled  out 
half  of  my  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of  line,  when  whiz-z-z  ! 
it  went  across  the  pass  and  back  to  the  other  side  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell  it.  Maurice  luffed  up  and  ran  in  to  shore. 
I was  using  light  tackle,  and  finding  that  I had  a game  fish  to 
deal  with,  I was  compelled  to  play  him  a few  minutes  before 
attempting  to  land  him.  I soon  wore  him  out  sufficiently  to 
be  able  to  bring  him  aboard,  when  I found  him  to  be  a hand- 
some specimen  of  the  Cavalli,  locally  known  as  the  jack -fish. 
He  weighed  four  pounds,  and  was  seventeen  inches  long. 
This  fish  closely  resembles  the  pompano,  both  in  outward 
appearance  and  flavor.  He  is  one  of  the  most  delicious 
fish  in  the  Gulf  waters,  is  frequently  served  at  hotels  and 
restaurants  in  the  southern  cities  under  the  name  of  pompano, 
and  none  but  an  experienced  palate  can  detect  the  difference. 
There  is  a streak  of  dark  meat  along  either  side  of  the  back- 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


197 


bone  that  is  especially  rich  and  oily,  and  somewhat  resembles 
the  flavor  of  the  sardine,  as  we  get  it,  dressed  in  oil. 

After  contemplating  with  pride,  for  a few  minutes,  this, 
my  first  prize,  we  pushed  off  and  I cast  again.  We  had  gone 
but  a few  yards  when  the  alarm  in  my  reel  notified  me  that  I 
had  some  more  business  to  attend  to.  I landed  this  catch 
with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  and  was  surprised  and  delighted 
to  find  that  I had  a fine  Spanish  mackerel  sixteen  inches  long 
and  weighing  three  pounds.  This  fish  is  too  well  known  to 
need  any  description.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I relished  a piece 
of  him  broiled  for  breakfast  next  morning,  as  I had  never  before 
relished  Spanish  mackerel.  We  had  scarcely  gotten  under 
way  again,  with  perhaps  one  third  of  my  line  out,  when  away 
she  went  again.  I thumbed  the  line,  struck  hard  and  although 
the  drag  was  tight,  my  fish  went  down  the  Pass  like  a bolt  of 
lightning,  until  every  foot  of  my  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
was  out.  I shuddered  as  I thought  of  the  possibility  of  the 
line  snapping,  but  at  this  juncture  I gave  him  the  butt  of  the 
rod,  and  succeeded  in  checking  him.  Then,  what  a thrilling 
sight  met  my  eager  eye  ! Whisp  ! he  went  six  feet  into  the 
air,  and  shook  himself  like  a wild  colt  striving  to  break  the 
lariat  with  which  he  is  caught.  But  no,  my  mettley  little 
friend,  you  are  securely  hooked.  My  line  stands  firm,  and 
you  must  abide  the  consequences.  He  comes  back  into  the 
water  with  a terrific  splash,  and  starts  directly  toward  me,  and 
with  all  possible^speed  I reel  in.  He  passes  me,  and  by  the 
time  he  comes  taut  above,  I have  a hundred  feet  or  more  of 
the  line  in  hand.  Then  he  jumps  again,  displaying  his  rich, 
silvery  form  in  the  bright  sunlight,  each  time  increasing  my 
anxiety  to  make  sure  of  my  prize.  As  he  starts  down  the 
Pass  again  with  the  speed  of  the  wind,  I thumb  the  reel  again, 
but  in  spite  of  that  and  the  drag,  he  takes  it  all  out  before  he 
stops,  and  again  rises  high  in  the  air.  There  is  no  sulking 


198 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


here,  as  with  almost  every  other  variety  of  game  fish — it  is  all 
go,  and  that  of  the  most  vigorous  quality.  He  ran  constantly 
for  thirty  minutes,  before  he  showed  any  signs  of  weakening, 
but  finally  was  compelled  from  sheer  exhaustion  to  give  up  the 
fight,  when  I landed  him  on  shore.  He  proved  to  be  what 
the  natives  call  the  “bony-fish,”  or  “lady-fish,”  and  what  the 
Bahama  Islanders  call  the  “ ten-pounder.”  It  is  by  far  the 
gamiest  fish  I have  ever  caught,  and  I have  caught  nearly 
every  variety  of  fresh-water  fish  on  the  continent.  He  has 
greater  strength  and  greater  speed  than  any  fish  of  his  size  I 
ever  saw.  This  one  was  eighteen  inches  long  and  weighed 
five  and  a half  pounds.  In  form  it  bears  some  resemblance 
to  the  pike  or  muskalonge  of  the  northern  waters,  but  is 
somewhat  thicker  in  proportion  to  the  length.  The  back  is 
of  a pale-blue  color,  and  the  sides  are  of  a bright  silvery- 
gray.  The  scales  are  as  large  as  those  of  the  mullet.  It  is 
not  considered  eatable  at  all  here,  on  account  of  being  so  full 
of  small  bones,  but  I am  inclined  to  think  that  it  would  be 
very  palatable  if  this  difficulty  could  be  gotten  over.  I caught 
four  of  them  during  the  day,  and  burned  several  little  blisters 
on  my  thumb,  the  marks  of  which  I expect  to  wear  for  several 
weeks,  as  relics  of  this,  the  finest  day’s  fishing  I ever  enjoyed. 

We  trolled  through  the  entire  length  of  the  Pass,  a dis- 
tance of  three  miles,  and  caught  fish  as  fast  as  we  could 
handle  them.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Pass  we  pulled  up  to  a 
high  bank,  where  the  water  was  about  six  feet  deep,  and  saw 
large  schools  of  mangrove  snapper  (a  fish  resembling  in  shape 
our  black  bass)  sporting  along  the  bank,  but  we  had  no  live 
minnows  with  us,  and  no  other  bait  would  tempt  them,  so  we 
were  compelled  to  pass  them  until  another  day. 

We  then  pulled  across  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  Pass, 
where  the  surf  was  running,  and  fished  an  hour  for  redfish. 
por  these  we  vised  cut  bait  (mullet  is  best)  with  heavy  leads, 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


199 


cast  out  as  far  as  possible,  and  let  the  hook  lay  on  the  ground. 
We  caught  a number  of  very  fine  ones,  weighing  from  four  to 
six  pounds,  and  about  three  o’clock  pulled  up  and  went  home, 
well  satisfied  with  our  day’s  work.  We  had  over  a hundred 
pounds  of  fish,  including,  besides  those  mentioned  above, 
drum,  sheepshead,  grunters  and  sea-trout. 

I shall  never  forget  this  day’s  sport,  no  matter  what  other 
rich  or  varied  sports  I may  enjoy  in  the  future,  so  great  was 
the  variety  of  fish  caught  and  so  exciting  the  nature  of  the 
fishing. 

For  instance,  I was  trolling  for  sea-trout,  but  when  I 
hooked  a fish  I never  knew  what  it  was  until  I got  it  up  to  the 
boat.  The  same  state  of  affairs  existed  when  fishing  with  cut 
bait  for  redfish. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


ON  BOARD  THE  “ SKY  LARK.” 

“ SHALL  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE  EE  FORGOT  ?”  — CAPTAIN  O.  C.  SQUYER  — 
SEA  TROUT  — THIRSTING  FOR  THE  BLOOD  OF  A “’GATOR”' — OUR 
DESIRE  THOROUGHLY  SATISFIED  — WE  BEGIN  TO  HANKER  AFTER 
SHARK  — SHARKS  AND  SAND-FLIES  — A JEW-FISH  CAUGHT  WEIGH- 
ING ONE  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY-THREE  POUNDS  — PREPARING  FORA 
FIRE-HUNT  — • MY  FIRST  FIRE-HUNT. 

When  I returned  from  the  Pass,  Saturday  evening,  I was 
delighted  to  meet,  on  entering  the  house,  Captain  O.  C. 
Squyer,  of  Minneapolis,  Minn.,  an  intimate  friend  of  long 
years  ago,  who  had  come  all  the  way  from  Jacksonville  to 
meet  us  and  join  in  the  pleasures  of  a few  days’  fishing  and 
shooting.  Accordingly,  we  all  took  passage  on  board  the 
“ Sky  Lark,”  early  Sunday  morning,  and  set  sail  for  the  Pass 
again.  As  soon  as  we  entered  it  we  threw  out  another  artifi- 
cial minnow,  and  for  three  hours,  as  we  sailed  leisurely  along 
the  Pass,  the  scenes  of  yesterday  were  “ acted  o’er  again.” 
First,  we  hooked  a beautiful  sea-trout,  and  after  half  an 
hour’s  royal  sport  playing  him,  landed  him  safely  in  the  boat. 
What  a magnificent  picture  ! He  is  unquestionably  the  hand- 
somest fish  in  the  Gulf.  In  profile  he  is  very  like  the  trout  of 
the  northern  and  eastern  streams,  but  the  coloring  is  entirely 
different.  The  color  of  his  back  is  of  a rich,  dark  marine- 
blue,  the  sides  ^slightly  lighter,  and  the  belly  almost  white, 
while  the  spots  are  jet-black.  This  fish  grows  to  a very  large 
size  here,  frequently  measuring  twenty  inches  in  length  and 
weighing  eight  pounds.  The  meat  is  clear  white  and  of  a 

200 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


201 


very  delicate  flavor.  Following  this,  we  took  several  Cavalli 
Spanish  mackerel,  mangrove,  snapper  and  “ bony-fish.” 

On  arriving  at  the  mouth  of  the  Pass,  we  pulled  up  on 
the  main  beach,  where  the  surf  was  running  high,  and  threw 
for  redfish  with  fair  success.  The  tide  started  out  about  noon, 
and  as  the  fish  refused  to  take  bait  after  that  hour,  we  laid 
by  our  tackle  and  spent  a few  hours  very  pleasantly  “ gather- 
ing up  the  shells  on  the  shore.”  About  four  o’clock  we 
returned  home.  On  Monday  morning  Captain  Maurice  bade 
us  good-bye,  and  returned  home.  We  parted  with  him  re- 
luctantly. He  is  a kind-hearted,  genteel,  companionable 
little  fellow, — a sailor  “ to  the  manner-born  and  thorough- 
bred.” 

Mr.  Webb’s  two  sons,  William  and  Jack,  returned  home 
Sunday  night,  and  on  Monday  morning  Jack  kindly  offered 
to  pilot  Captain  Squyer  and  I to  South  creek,  a distance  of 
three  miles,  where  we  could  shoot  some  alligators.  I was 
thirsting  for  the  blood  of  a “ ’gator,”  and  this  proposition 
met  with  my  hearty  approval.  Jack  took  his  brother’s  Win- 
chester, the  Captain  a double  shot-gun,  and  I my  little  32- 
caliber  Stevens  rifle.  We  each  put  a substantial  lunch  into 
our  game-bag,  and  were  soon  on  the  war-path. 

A mile  from  the  house  we  came  to  the  first  of  a series  of 
ponds,  in  the  open  pine-woods  through  which  we  were  to 
pass.  In  each  of  these  we  found  plenty  of  the  large  water- 
birds  so  numerous  in  this  state.  We  took  an  occasional  shot 
at  them  when  one  offered  a very  tempting  mark,  and  bagged 
a large  number  during  the  day. 

As  we  entered  a small  bay-head  about  two  miles  irom 
home,  Jack,  who  was  in  the  lead,  stopped  suddenly  and  said, 

“ There’s  a deer  ! ” I stepped  to  his  side  and  looked  in  the 
direction  indicated.  There,  sure  enough,  about  a hundred 
yards  ahead  of  us,  was  a fine  young  doe  feeding  in  the  scrub 


202 


THE  GULE  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


palmetto.  Jack  whispered  to  me,  “Shoot  and  I’ll  take  the 
second  shot,”  at  the  same  time  bringing  his  Winchester  to 
his  shoulder.  There  was  but  a small  portion  of  the  animal’s 
body  visible  through  the  leaves.  I drew  a bead  on  that  por- 
tion and  let  go.  She  doubled  up  and  started  to  run.  At  the 
second  jump  Jack  fired  and  she  increased  her  speed.  We  let 
the  dog  loose,  and  catching  sight  of  the  animal  he  pressed 
her  closely.  After  running  perhaps  a hundred  yards  she 
raised  her  fail  and  bounded  away  as  if  unhurt. 

Many  deer  hunters  claim  that  a wounded  deer  always  runs 
with  its  tail  down,  and  would  at  this  point  have  decided  that 
we  had  both  missed.  But  for  my  own  part  I knew  this  could 
not  be  so.  I knew  my  aim  was  sure  and  that  my  little 
“hunter’s  pet”  never  failed  to  do  its  work  perfectly  when 
held  correctly.  Jack  was  equally  certain  of  his  aim,  and, 
besides,  the  deer  had  shown  plainly  at  first  that  it  was  badly 
hurt.  So  we  followed  the  direction  the  deer  and  dog  had 
taken  and  after  running  perhaps  half  a mile  found  our  deer 
lying  prostrate  with  old  Rover  standing  proudly  over  it. 
We  found  upon  examination  that  my  ball  had  passed  through 
the  animal’s  loins- and  that  Jack’s  had  broken  one  hind  leg 
at  the  knee  and  fractured  the  other  just  below.  When  we 
found  her  this  fractured  leg  was  also  broken,  but  we  were 
unable  to  decide  whether  she  had  broken  it  in  running  or 
whether  the  dog  had  wrenched  and  broken  it  after  he  caught 
her.  At  any  rate  we  were  sure  the  ball  could  not  have 
broken  the  bone  outright,  for  she  could  not  have  run  ten 
feet  with  both  hind  legs  broken  so  high  up. 

To  dress  the  deer,  cut  the  feet  out  and  tie  the  skin  of  the 
legs  together  was  but  the  work  of  a few  minutes.  Then  we 
debated  briefly  whether  we  should  return  home  at  once  or 
continue  on  our  course  to  the  creek;  but  as  it  was  only  a 
mile  distant  and  as  the  deer  was  not  a large  one  we  decided 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


203 


on  the  latter  plan.  Jack  swung  the  deer  on  to  his  back  and 
we  took  turns  carrying  it  until  we  reached  home. 

We  arrived  at  the  head  of  South  creek  where  it  drains  a 
large  pond,  and  where  we  could  easily  step  across  it,  about 
noon  and  sat  down  to  eat  our  lunch.  After  performing  that 
pleasant  duty  we  shouldered  our  venison  and  guns  and 
started  down  the  creek. 

It  increases  in  size  rapidly,  and  but  a short  distance  down 
we  came  to  some  deep  holes  where  we  saw  large  numbers  of 
gar-fish  sporting  in  the  sunlight.  We  shot  a few  of  them 
merely  for  pastime. 

We  also  saw  several  very  large  rovallia,  a fish  that  abounds 
in  the  fresh  waters  of  this  state.  It  is  said  to  be  very  gamy 
and  to  possess  excellent  qualities  as  a food  fish,  but  as  I have 
neither  fished  for  nor  eaten  them,  I cannot  speak  from  per- 
sonal knowledge. 

About  a mile  below  where  we  first  came  upon  the  creek, 
and  two  miles  from  where  it  empties  into  the  bay,  we  reached 
tide  water,  and  Jack  told  us  to  look  out  now  for  ’gators. 
Sure  enough,  we  had  gone  but  a few  steps  further,  when  we 
saw  two  of  the  monster  old  saurians  lying  out  on  the  bank 
sunning  themselves.  They  took  the  alarm,  however,  while 
we  were  yet  a long  way  off,  and  plunged  into  the  water.  As 
we  neared  the  place  we  saw  several  others  swimming  in 
different  directions  in  the  same  hole.  They  all  disappeared 
as  soon  as  they  saw  us,  so  we  laid  down  our  luggage,  and  sat 
down  in  the  shade  of  a tree  to  await  results.  In  a few  minutes 
one  of  them  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  water,  not  more  than 
thirty  yards  away,  whereupon  Captain  S.  gave  him  a charge 
of  buck-shot  in  the  vicinity  of  the  eye  and  ear.  He 
lashed  the  water  into  a foam  in  his  gyrations,  and  sank  out 
of  sight,  probably  mortally  wounded.  Presently  another 
one  put  his  eyes  out  of  the  water  to  look  at  us.  He  was  near 


204 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


the  opposite  shore,  perhaps  fifty  yards  from  where  we  sat.  I 
let  go  at  him,  and  although  I scored  a palpable  hit,  did  not 
kill  him. 

A ’gator  always  tells  you,  unerringly,  whether  you  have 
killed  or  only  wounded  him.  If  wounded,  he  plunges  and 
thrashes  around  at  a lively  rate  for  a few  seconds,  and  sinks 
out  of  sight ; but  if  killed  dead  he  performs  about  the  same 
series  of  evolutions,  turns  on  his  back  and  dies,  remaining  on 
top  of  the  water.  This  is  the  time  to  go  for  him  if  you  wish 
to  capture  him,  for  he  only  lays  on  top  of  the  water  fifteen  to 
thirty  minutes,  when  the  air  escapes  from  the  lungs,  and  he 
sinks.  It  is  very  difficult  indeed  to  kill  them  on  dry  land 
nowadays,  for  they  are  shot  at  so  much  that  they  are  exceed- 
ingly wild.  But  whenever  you  flush  one  from  the  bank,  and 
he  goes  into  the  water,  sit  down  and  rest,  and  you  may 
depend  upon  it  you  will  have  to  wait  but  a few  minutes  before 
he  will  put  his  large  black  eyes  out  of  the  water  and  look 
around  to  see  if  you  are  still  there.  Then  you  have  a fine 
target  for  your  rifle.  His  large,  bright,  black  eye  is  a decided 
improvement  on  any  Creedmoor  bull’s-eye. 

The  smoke  had  scarcely  cleared  away  after  my  last  shot, 
when  a third  ’gator  looked  up  near  us,  and  instantly  caught  a 
right  fielder  in  his  left  eye,  that  turned  him  over.  We  then 
supposed  we  had  made  it  so  warm  for  them  that  no  others 
would  show  themselves  for  a while,  so  we  started  down  the 
stream.  The  Captain  and  I had  gone  a little  ahead,  when 
Jack,  who  had  not  yet  started,  called  to  us,  and  said : 
‘‘Here’s  another  ’gator.”  I went  back,  and  there,  sure 
enough,  was  an  old  fellow  swimming  along  down  the  creek  as 
unconcernedly  as  though  he  had  never  heard  the  report  of  a 
gun  in  his  life.  I waited  until  he  came  within  about  fifty 
feet  of  me,  and  then  gave  him  one  in  the  leeward  optic.  He 
turned  two  or  three  somersaults,  and  stopped  on  his  back  with 


the  gulf  coast  of  Florida. 


205 


One  fore  foot  sticking  out  of  the  water.  We  left  him  there  as 
a warning  to  his  kind  not  to  tempt  the  deadly  accuracy  of  a 
Stevens  rifle. 

As  we  were  now  thoroughly  sated  with  this  class  of  sport, 
we  returned  home. 

Ever  since  our  arrival  here  we  have  been  anxious  to  catch 
a shark,  and  after  supper  that  evening  we  prepared  Mr.  Webb’s 
shark  tackle,  which  he  kindly  loaned  us,  procured  several 
mullet  (weighing  about  two  pounds  each)  for  bait,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  our  evening’s  sport.  , The  tackle  consists  of  a half- 
inch rope  about  fifty  feet  long,  a common  dog-chain,  double, 
for  a leader,  and  a hook  of  quarter-inch  steel  wire  bent  on  a 
two  and  a-half  inch  circle.  We  cut  one  of  the  mullet  in  two, 
hooked  both  pieces  on  and  cast  out,  first  making  the  line  fast 
to  the  wharf.  We  left  a coil  of  the  line  on  the  wharf,  and 
sat  down  near  it  to  chat,  and  wait  for  a bite. 

Presently  the  coil  began  to  move  off.  I sprang  to  the 
line,  caught  it  and  pulled,  but  my  pulling  made  no  difference 
whatever  with  Mr.  Shark.  He  went  on  until  the  line  tightened 
up  on  the  wharf.  This  brought  him  to  the  surface  of  the 
water.  He  made  a terrific  plunge  and  got  off.  I took  up 
the  line,  put  on  a new  bait  and  cast  again.  In  a few  minutes 
Ave  had  another  pull  with  the  same  result.  During  the  evening 
we  had  seven  bites  from  shark  and  a thousand  or  more  from 
sand-flies,  but  failed  in  every  instance  to  fasten  our  fish, 
OAving  probably  to  the  mouth  of  the  shark  being  so  hard  and 
bony  that  it  is  difficult  to  make  the  hook  penetrate  it. 

About  ten  o’clock  at  night  we  gave  up  the  sport,  went 
home  and  retired,  having  first  baited  our  hook  carefully  and 
throAvn  it  out  in  hopes  of  fastening  one  during  the  night. 
Early  the  next  morning  I Avent  to  the  Avharf  and  found  the  line 
standing  out  taut.  I took  hold  of  it  eagerly  and  Avas 
delighted  to  find  that  I had  drawn  a prize ; that  one  of  the 


206 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


monsters  of  the  deep  was  securely  fastened  on  the  hook.  By 
hard  pulling  I got  him  in  near  enough  to  the  wharf  to  see  that 
he  was  indeed  a monster.  I could  not  land  him  alone  so  I 
hastened  back  to  the  house  and  called  Captain  S.  to  come  and 
assist  me.  He  was  soon  ready  for  the  task  and  we  returned 
to  the  wharf.  By  hard  pulling  we  succeeded  in  bringing  our 
prize  ashore.  It  proved  to  be  a jew- fish,  measuring  five  feet 
eight  inches  in  length,  three  feet  nine  inches  in  circumference, 
and  weighing  153  pounds.  In  his  struggles  he  had  broken 
one  strand  of  the  chain  and  one  strand  of  the  rope,  leaving 
but  one  of  the  chain  and  two  of  the  rope  between  him  and 
liberty.  This  fish  is  very  much  like  the  northern  black  bass 
in  form  and  color,  and  might  with  propriety  be  termed  an 
overgrown  specimen  of  that  family.  We  were  much  better 
pleased  with  our  catch  than  if  we  had  taken  a shark,  for  this 
fish,  while  much  more  rare  than  the  shark,  is  valued  highly 
as  an  article  of  food.  It  is  prepared  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  codfish,  and  the  flavor  is  very  much  like  that  of  the  cod. 
I cut  off  the  two  pectoral  fins,  preserved  them,  and  shall  add 
them  to  my  collection  of  Florida  specimens.  They  each 
measure  fourteen  inches  in  length  and  nine  in  width. 

After  seeing  the  jew-fish  dressed  and  put  away,  I took  my 
rifle  and  again  went  to  South  creek,  but  saw  no  large  game  of 
any  kind.  I killed  several  white  egrets  and  ibises,  and 
again  amused  myself  for  an  hour  or  two  shooting  gars,  of  which 
I saw  a great  number  in  the  upper  portion  of  the  creek.  I 
returned  home  about  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  Mr. 
Will  Webb  informed  me  that  he  had  prepared  a “pan  ” and 
had  made  all  necessary  preparations  for  a “fire-hunt”  that 
night,  and  cordially  invited  me  to  accompany  him.  I gladly 
accepted,  for  although  I had  heard  much  of  this  novel  method 
of  deer  hunting,  had  never  before  had  an  opportunity  of 
participating  in  it.  We  split  up  a quantity  of  fat  pine,  or 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


207 


“ lightard,”  as  the  “crackers”  call  it,  .put  it  into  a coffee- 
sack  and  loaded  Will’s  double-barrel  shot-gun  with  buck-shot. 
By  this  time  supper  was  ready.  We  ate  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble, for  it  was  now  dusk. 

We  built  a fire  with  our  light-wood  in  the  pan,  which  was 
attached  to  a pole  about  six  feet  long.  Will  shouldered  this 
and  his  gun,  while  I shouldered  the  bag  of  light -wood  and 
took  charge  of  the  dog.  In  this  order  we  moved  out. 

As  we  passed  through  the  gate  at  the  outer  edge  of  the 
farm  and  entered  the  heavy  pine-woods  the  scene  became 
veird  and  impressive  in  the  extreme.  The  fat-pine  fire  in 
our  pan  flamed  up,  throwing  a brilliant  and  glaring  light 
among  the  tall  pines  to  a distance  of  a hundred  yards  or 
more.  The  shadows  of  the  trees  reached  away  into  the  mid- 
night darkness,  moving  as  we  moved  and  standing  still  when 
we  stood  still.  When  we  stopped  to  listen,  as  we  frequently 
did,  the  heavy  silence  was  oppressive.  It  was,  however, 
occasionally  broken  by  the.  hooting  or  awkward  flapping 
through  the  trees  of  some  great  owl  who  had  been  bewildered 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  our  light.  Occasionally  as  we 
passed  a slough,  a night-heron  would  fly  squawking  over  our 
heads,  apparently  anxious  to  divine  the  nature  and  cause  of 
this  mysterious  illumination.  Dozens  of  jacksnipes  arose  at 
our  feet  as  we  passed  through  the  marshes  and  uttering  their 
familiar  “scape,  scape,”  flitted  away  into  the  darkness. 
Then  again  as  we  came  near  a bay-head  or  thicket  we  occa- 
sionally heard  the  well-known  “whistle”  of  a deer — some 
wily  old  buck,  perhaps,  who  had  been  “ fire-hunted  ” before, 
who  was,  therefore,  unwilling  to  stand  until  our  light  came 
near  enough  to  assume  its  wonted  mesmeric  influence  over 
him, \ and  who  bounded  away  before  we  came  near  enough  to 
“shine  his  eyes.” 

Finally  we  reached  North  creek.  We  followed  up  its 


208 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


bank  some  distance  and  then  turned  toward  the  house  again. 
Will  kept  turning  steadily  from  right  to  left  and  from  left  to 
right,  throwing  the  light  over  as  large  an  area  as  possible  and 
scanning  the  ground  closely.  Finally  he  stopped  and  said  to 
me  in  a whisper,  “ There  are  a pair  of  eyes.”  He  told  me 
to  step  in  front  of  him.  I did  so,  and  he  adjusted  the  light 
so  that  I could  see  plainly  what  appeared  to  be  two  balls  of 
fire,  only  a short  distance  from  us.  I stepped  behind  again, 
and  we  discussed  them  for  a few  minutes.  Will  said  they 
were  not  a deer’s  eyes,  that  a deer  always  gazes  intently  and 
steadily  at  the  light  without  moving,  while  these  looked  at  it 
a moment,  looked  away,  then  looked  at  the  light  again. 
Furthermore  he  said  these  were  too  close  to  the  ground  to  be 
a deer’s  eyes ; that  a deer  holds  its  head  high  in  the  air  when 
puzzled  and  frightened  by  the  light. 

When  these  and  other  points  had  been  canvassed  thorough- 
ly we  walked  toward  the  object  and  found  it  to  be  a yearling 
calf.  A less  skillful  and  experienced  fire-hunter  than  Will 
would  have  blazed  away  at  this  pair  of  eyes  at  first  sight,  and 
probably  have  had  to  pay  from  five  to  ten  dollars  for  his  sport. 
We  moved  on,  and  as  we  entered  a patch  of  shrub  palmetto 
where  the  ground  had  recently  been  burned  over  and  new 
grass  had  sprung  up,  old  Rover  sniffed  the  air  anxiously, 
whined,  and  in  other  ways  gave  unmistakable  evidence  that 
he  scented  game.  Will  said,  “ Look  out  for  eyes  now,  this 
is  a favorite  feeding-ground  for  deer.”  We  examined  the 
sand,  which  was  bare  in  places,  and  saw  plenty  of  fresh  signs. 
We  moved  cautiously  on  a few  rods  farther,  when  Will  stopped 
suddenly  and  looked  earnestly  to  the  left.  I followed  the 
direction  of  his  gaze  and  saw  a pair  of  flaming  eyeballs  not 
more  than  thirty  yards  from  where  we  stood.  Not  a word 
was  spoken  by  either  of  us.  We  both  knew  intuitively 
what  they  belonged  to.  Old  Rover  trembled  all  over  like  an 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


209 


aspen-leaf,  but  uttered  no  sound.  Will  brought  his  gun  for- 
ward, glanced  aloijg  the  barrels  and  pulled.  The  report 
rang  out  on  the  silent  bosom  of  the  night  like  a peal  of 
thunder  from  a cloudless  sky.  As  it  echoed  away  through 
the  tall  pines  we  heard  a faint  rattle  among  the  palmetto 
bushes,  and  all  was  still  as  death  again. 

We  walked  hurriedly  to  the  spot  where  a moment  before 
we  had  seen  the  startling  vision,  and  there  lay  a noble  buck 
breathing  his  last.  Six  of  the  nine  buckshot  had  taken 
effect,  four  in  the  head  and  two  in  the  left  shoulder.  We 
severed  his  windpipe,  lashed  his  feet  together  and  carried  him 
home. 

Such  was  my  first  night’s  experience  in  fire-hunting,  and  I 
sincerely  hope  this  will  not  be  my  last.  I had  always  consid- 
ered it  a species  of  pot-hunting,  and  had  never  thought  I 
should  enjoy  it  until  since  I came  to  Florida,  and  heard  so 
much  of  its  merits  as  a genuine  sport.  I should  not  even  now 
wish  to  hunt  deer  in  this  way  often,  for  I still  think  the  fire- 
hunter  takes  an  undue  advantage  of  the  game;  but  to  the 
lover  of  nature  (and  what  true  sportsman  is  not  ?)  a fire-hunt 
must  always  possess  a peculiar  and  indescribable  charm,  espe- 
cially in  Florida.  No  sportsman  who  visits  this  state  should 
under  any  circumstances  leave  it  without  a taste  of  this 
most  novel  sport. 


( 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DEER-STALKING  AND  FIRE-FISHING. 

THE  MULE  ELEMENT  STRONG  IN  ME  — “ WALKING  BY  FAITH,  NOT  BY 
SIGHT” — IN  SEARCH  OF  ALLIGATORS  — A FIGHT  BETWEEN  AN  EAGLE 
AND  A FISH-HAWK  — A TWO-YEAR-OLD  DOE  STARTS  FROM  THE 
THICKET — I FIRE,  ROVER  STARTS  ON  THE  CHASE — I CARRY  HOME 
MY  PRIZE — FIRE-FISHING — SHEEPSHEAD  — NEEDLE-FISH  MUL- 
LET— A HUNDRED  POUNDS  OF  FISH  IN  THREE  HOURS  — WE  CATCH 
AN  INQUISITIVE  SHARK. 

Early  on  Wednesday  morning  I started  to  return  to 
North  creek,  the  scene  of  our  previous  night’s  fire-hunt,  in 
hope  of  getting  another  shot  at  deer,  which  we  had  found 
were  plentiful  in  that  locality.  Mr.  Webb  told  me  to  keep 
well  to  the  right,  after  leaving  the  trail  at  the  rear  of  the 
farm,  and  that  if  I did  not  I would  strike  a large  tract  of 
scrub  live-oak  thickets ; that  I could  not  get  through  them, 
and  would  have  to  go  a long  way  out  of  my  course  to  get 
around  them.  I had  heard  a great  deal  about  these  impene- 
trable scrub-oak  thickets,  and  was  anxious  to  see  one.  Besides, 
I am  liberally  endowed  with  that  peculiar  natural  quality 
which  in  the  mule  is  termed  stubbornness,  and  was  anxious  to 
find  a thicket  that  I could  not  get  through.  So  I kept  well 
to  the  left,  and  sure  enough  after  I had  gone  a half  or  three- 
quarters  of  a mile  from  the  farm  I felt  my  legs  becoming 
seriously  entangled  in  what  at  first  seemed  to  be  a vine  of 
some  kind  running  on  and  near  the  ground,  but  on  examina- 
tion I at  once  concluded  it  was  the  much-talked-of  and  much- 
dreaded  scrub  live-oak.  It  has  something  the  appearance  of 
a graDe-vine  in  places.  It  runs  every  way  from  the  root,  and 

210 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


211 


intertwines  itself  among  the  scrub  palmetto  and  other  vege- 
tation in  the  most  intricate  and  provoking  manner  possible. 
It  is  crooked,  gnarly,  full  of  knots,  thorns,  and  altogether 
forms  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  jungles  I ever  undertook 
to  explore. 

Proceeding  farther  into  the  thicket  it  became  denser,  and 
of  a larger  growth,  reaching  a height  of  six  to  ten  feet.  I got 
down  on  my  hands  and  knees  and  tried  to  crawl  under  it,  but 
it  was  thicker  on  the  ground  than  a foot  or  two  above,  so  I 
got  up  again.  My  flesh  crawled,  however,  as  I thought  of 
the  chances  I incurred  of  stepping  on  a rattlesnake,  or  wak- 
ing up  a pantler  in  this  paradise  of  theirs.  I could  not  see 
three  feet  from.  me  sn  rmy  circciion  except  straight  up,  and  I 
verily  walked  ' ehj  a?4  net  by  sight.” 

Old  Rover,,  .say  :,r’v  companion,  who  generally  kept  a few 
yards  ahead  of  me..  ®0W  came  voluntarily  to  heel,  perfectly 
willing  I should  break  the  way  for  him.  By  hard  work  I 
think  I made  fully  a quarter  of  a mile  an  hour  for  the  next 
two  hours,  and  this  with  the  sun  beaming  down  at  a “ ninety 
in  the  shade”  rate. 

Finally,  about  eleven  o’clock  a.m.,  I found  myself  stand- 
ing upon  the  bank  of  the  creek,  or  perhaps  it  might  more 
properly  be  termed  a river  here,  for  it  is  sixty  yards  wide, 
with  an  average  depth  of  three  to  four  feet.  I stopped  and 
debated,  solus,  what  I should  do  next  — how  I could  best  get 
out  of  this  jungle.  There  was  scrub  oak  to  the  right  of  me, 
scrub  oak  to  the  left  of  me,  scrub  oak  in  the  rear  of  me, 
and  the  river  in  front  of  me.  This  oak  grows  so  close  to 
the  water’s  edge  as  to  leave  no  room  there  for  a passage  way 
— the  branches  overhanging  the  water  several  feet. 

As  my  original  plan  was  to  go  up  the  creek  a mile  or  two 
after  I reached  it,  I decided  to  carry  it  out,  and  dropping 
back  some  ten  or  twenty  yards  from  the  bank  of  the  stream, 


212 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


again  commenced  my  tedious  march.  I moved  as  cautiously 
as  possible  and  occasionally  crawled  up  to  the  water’s  edge 
and  peered  cautiously  up  and  down  the  stream  in  search  of 
alligators.  Presently  I saw  two  lying  on  a low  grassy  bank 
away  up  the  creek,  sunning  themselves  and  looking  like  great 
black  logs.  I drew  back  again  and  proceeded  as-quietly  as 
possible  to  a bend  in  the  creek  that  would  bring  me  within 
range  of  them.  They  heard  me  before  I reached  the  point, 
however,  and  plunged  into  the  water.  I stepped  behind  a 
neighboring  pine-tree  and  waited  a few  minutes  for  them  to 
come  up.  I did  not  have  to  wait  long.  One  of  them  arose 
to  the  surface  a hundred  yards  below  me.  I did  not  molest 
him,  for  I thought  I could  do  better.  In  a few  minutes  the 
other  put  his  eyes  out  of  the  water  near  the  opposite  bank, 
not  more  than  fifty  yards  away.  I looked  through  my  globe 
sight,  saw  Iris  great  black  eye  glisten  in  the  sunlight,  and 
pulled.  He  doubled  up,  and  his  back  came  out  of  the  water 
until  he  formed  a great  half-circle.  Then  he  went  down,  and 
next  his  head  and  tail  came  out  approaching  each  other  until 
they  almost  met.  Then  he  disappeared  again,  and  at  once 
reappeared,  doubled  and  twisted  into  an  almost  indistinguish- 
able mass.  When  he  unfolded  himself  this  time  he  remained 
on  top  of  the  water,  lying  on  his  back,  and  then  I knew 
that  he  was  dead. 

He  was  a very  large  one,  some  ten  or  eleven  feet  long.  I 
was  anxious  to  get  him  out  and  preserve  some  of  his  teeth, 
but,  as  I had  no  boat  or  other  means  of  reaching  him,  was 
unable  to  do  so.  Another  half-hour  of  hard,  tedious  crawl- 
ing took  me  out  of  the  scrub-oak  thicket  into  the  open  pine- 
woods  and  I sat  down  on  a log  near  the  bank  of  the  creek  to 
rest.  Here  I saw  a scene  enacted  the  like  of  which  I had 
never  witnessed  before,  though  I had  read  and  heard  of  it 
since  the  days  of  my  early  childhood.  A large  fish-hawk. 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


213 


that  had  been  soaring  up  and  down  the  stream,  saw  a good- 
sized  fish  lying  near  the  surface  of  the  water,  and,  folding  his 
wings  close  to  his  body,  darted  down  upon  it  with  the  velocity 
of  an  arrow,  caught  it  and  carried  it  up  into  the  top  of  a low 
pine-tree,  where  he  prepared  to  make  a meal  off  it.  A great 
bald  eagle,  who  had  been  sitting  secreted  in  the  top  of  one  of 
the  tallest  pines  in  the  neighborhood,  awaiting  this  opportu- 
nity, pitched  from  his  lofty  perch,  reefed  his  pinions,  shot 
through  the  air  like  a bolt  of  lightning  and  struck  the  fish- 
hawk  with  such  force  as  to  send  it  whirling  through  the 
branches  of  the  tree.  The  fish  fell  to  the  ground.  The 
eagle  followed,  picked  it  up  and  carried  it  away.  The  fish- 
hawk,  after  having  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  shock  it  had 
received,  flew  into  a neighboring  tree  and  sat  there  for  a long 
time,  silent  and  sullen,  brooding  over  the  burning  insult  he 
had  received,  but  which,  owing  to  his  inferior  size  and 
strength,  he  was  powerless  to  resent.  I left  the  poor  bird 
there  and  went  my  way,  unwilling  to  add  to  his  wrongs  by 
sending  a ball  after  him. 

As  I turned  to  go  toward  home  I entered  the  tract  of  land 
that  had  recently  been  burned  over,  where  the  night  before 
Will  had  killed  the  buck  while  we  were  fire-hunting.  I 
examined  the  ground  and  saw  plenty  of  fresh  signs.  I called 
Rover  in  and  kept  him  close.  As  I ascended  a slight  ridge 
he  caught  wind  of  game  and  looked  anxiously  to  the  left.  I 
moved  cautiously  in  that  direction  a few  steps,  when  a fine 
two-year-old  doe,  who  had  been  lying  under  a bunch  of  scrub 
oak  about  thirty  yards  ahead,  arose  and  bounded  away  to  the 
right.  After  making  a few  jumps  she  stopped  to  look  and 
listen,  as  if  not  quite  certain  where  the  noise  that  had  startled 
her  came  from.  Here  was  my  golden  opportunity.  I stood 
\ behind  a scrub  palmetto  that  almost  entirely  concealed  me 
from  her  searching  gaze.  She  was  not  over  fifty  yards  away 


214 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


and  stood  broadside  toward  me.  I took  my  rifle  quickly  to 
my  eye,  drew  a firm  and  steady  aim  on  her  shoulder  and  fired. 
She  made  a few  halting,  undecisive  leaps  and  then  settled 
down  to  a steadier,  though  evidently  painful,  run.  By  this 
time  I had  slipped  in  another  cartridge,  and  as  she  crossed  a 
slight  opening  in  the  palmettos,  probably  a hundred  and 
thirty  yards  oft,  I pulled  in  about  thee  feet  ahead  of  her  and 
let  go  a second  time.  Rover  had  started  for  her  at  the  first 
shot,  and  as  she  was  badly  hurt  and  losing  strength  all  the 
time  he  gained  rapidly  upon  her.  I stood  and  watched  the 
race.  I saw  the  deer  pass  along  the  margin  of  a pond  three 
or  four  hundred  yards  distant,  and  as  she  attempted  to  jump 
a log  she  staggered  and  fell.  The  dog  was  upon  her  in  a 
second,  and  I started  in  hot  haste  to.  secure  my  prize. 

She  was  still  alive  when  I arrived,  but  I hastily  dispatched 
her  with  my  knife.  I found  on  examination  that  my  first 
shot  had  penetrated  her  shoulder,  passed  through  and  out  on 
the  opposite  side,  just  in  front  of  the  other  shoulder.  My 
second  shot  had  missed  entirely.  She  was  probably  not  run- 
ning as  fast  as  I estimated  and  I had  held  too  far  ahead.  I 
dressed  the  deer  and  carried  her  home. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  Mr.  Griffith,  a son-in-law  of 
our  host,  who  lives  only  a mile  below,  was  there  with  his 
boat,  and  kindly  informed  me  that  he  had  prepared  a fishing- 
jack,  and  made  all  other  necessary  preparations  to  take  us  all 
out  fire-fishing  that  night. 

This  is  another  species  of  sport  I had  never  yet  tested, 
and  was  delighted  with  the  prospect  of  an  evening’s  experi- 
ence in  it. 

As  soon  as  we  had  eaten  supper,  it  being  then  dark  enough 
for  our  light  to  show  well  upon  the  water,  we  started  out. 
Our  party  consisted  of  Mrs.  Guptill,  my  wife,  Mr.  Griffith, 
Will  Webb,  Captain  Squyer  and  myself, — six  in  all.  We  ais- 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


215 


posed  ourselves  about  the  boat,  so  as  to  trim  it  to  the  best 
advantage. 

We  had  two  spears,  or  graining-irons,  a3  the  natives  call 
them,  and  a harpoon.  Will  gave  Captain  S.  one  of  the 
spears,  me  the  other,  and  took  charge  of  the  harpoon 
himself.  Mr.  Griffith  took  the  first  stand  at  the  stern  and 
pulled  us  ove-r  shoals  and  around  the  margins  of  small  islands 
and  oyster-bars  where  the  best  sport  was  to  be  had. 

Our  fat  pine  fire  in  the  jack,  which  occupied  the  bow,  cast 
a brilliant  light  on  the  water,  enabling  us  to  see  the  smallest 
fish  in  three  or  four-feet  of  water  as  plainly  as  though  it  were 
midday.  This  glaring  light  coming  suddenly  upon  the  fish 
seems  to  blind  them,  and  many  of  them  lie  perfectly  still 
watching  it,  while  others  run  wildly  hither  and  thither  com- 
pletely bewildered.  They  frequently  run  their  muzzles 
squarely  against  the  sides  of  the  boat. 

By  this  means  the  fish  are  rendered  comparatively  easy 
prey  to  the  spear,  if  in  the  hands  of  a person  who  under- 
stands throwing  it.  Our  first  run  was  over  a sand-flat  in 
about  two  feet  of  water,  where  lay  scattering  oyster-shells. 
Here  we  were  enabled  for  the  first  time  to  study  another  of 
the  eccentricities  of  nature,  of  which  we  had  often  heard  and 
read,  but  never  before  seen  demonstrated, — it  is  the  habit  of 
the  sheepshead  to  lie  down  at  night  and  sleep,  like  any  other 
Christian.  They  lay  flat  on  their  back  (or  rather  sharply  on 
their  back,  for  they  are  a flat  fish  with  a sharp  back), 
propped  up  against  an  oyster  shell  and  using  another  for 
a pillow.  Will  killed  several  of  them  before  I saw  any,  ana 
I asked  him  where  he  was  getting  so  many  sheepshead. 
He  said  he  was  picking  them  up  out  of  their  beds.  Then 
pointing  ahead,  on  my  side  of  the  boat  he  said; 

“ There’s  one  lying  against  that  oyster  shell,  take  him.’f 


21 G 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


“What,”  said  I,  “that  little  white  object?  A sheeps- 
head  is  dark  on  his  back.  ’ ’ 

“ Yes,  but  that’s  his  belly  you  are  looking  at.  He’s  lying 
on  his  back.” 

By  this  time  we  were  over  him.  I struck ; and  sure 
enough  stuck  a prong  of  the  spear  into  his  belly.  We  killed 
a large  number  of  them  in  this  way  during  the  evening,  and 
when  we  had  secured  as  many  as  we  cared  for,  quit  killing 
them,  but  occasionally  we  turned  them  over  gently  with  the 
spear,  woke  them  up,  saw  them  rub  their  eyes  with  their 
pectoral  fins  (metaphorically  speaking)  until  fully  awake, 
when  they  would 

“ Dart  away 
As  if  to  say, 

You  don’t  catch  us  napping.” 

Other  varieties  of  fish,  such  as  mullet,  red-fish,  trout,  man- 
grove snapper,  and  others  swim  very  rapidly  when  frightened 
by  the  light,  and  in  throwing  at  them  one  must  make  a time 
allowance  the  same  as  when  shooting  birds  on  the  wing. 
Besides  a “ depth  ” allowance  must  be  made.  That  is,  if  the 
fish  be  some  distance  away  from  the  boat,  and  you  throw  at 
him  at  an  angle  of,  say  forty-five  degrees,  you  must  aim  from 
six  to  eighteen  inches  under  him,  owing  to  the  depth  at 
which  he  lies  below  the  surface  of  the  water.  Taking  these 
facts,  together  with  the  motion  of  the  boat,  into  considera- 
tion,  fire-fishing  is  no  boy’s  play  after  all,  but  a genuine  and 
exciting  sport,  requiring  almost  as  much  practice,  skill  and, 
judgment  to  become  proficient  in  it  as  does  shooting  on  the 
wing. 

We  ran  into  several  schools  of  mullet  and  it  was  amusing 
to  see  the  rapid  speed  they  made  in  getting  away  from  the 
light.  Hundreds  of  needle  fish,  a beautiful  little  denizen  of 
the  salt  water,  sported  on  the  surface,  followed  the  light  and 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


217 


seemed  to  really  enjoy  its  influence.  We  captured  several  of 
them,  and  I preserved  the  head  of  one,  which  I have  added 
to  my  collection  as  a relic  of  the  occasion. 

We  killed  over  a hundred  pounds  of  fish  during  the  two 
or  three  hours  we  were  out,  among  which  were  the  sea-trout, 
drum,  grunter,  mullet,  mangrove  snapper,  red-fish,  etc.  Mr. 
Griffith  killed  one  drum  that  weighed  over  eight  pounds.  A 
regular  old  bass  drum,  as  it  were. 

As  we  passed  over  a sand  bar  about  nine  o’clock  a great 
white  shark  came  alongside  to  inspect  our  cargo  and  see  what 
our  headlight  was  made  of.  Captain  Squyer  had  the  harpoon 
in  hand  at  the  time,  and  when  the  old  monster  came  within 
easy  reach,  plunged  it  through  his  body  just  back'  of  the  head. 
Mr.  Shark’s  curiosity  was  satisfied  at  once,  and  he  headed  for 
deep  water  with  all  the  speed  he  could  command.  There 
were  thirty  feet  of  line  attached  to  the  harpoon  and  made  fast 
to  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  as  he  took  it  out,  Will,  who  was 
then  at  the  helm,  threw  the  bow  straight  toward  the  fleeing 
carcharion,  and  as  the  line  tightened  up  away  we  went  across 
the  bay  at  the  rate  of  about  fifteen  knots  an  hour.  He  towed 
us  back  and  forth,  up  and  down,  at  this  exciting  rate  for  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes  before  his  strength  failed  him  in  the  least. 
The  ladies  shrieked  with  fright  occasionally  as  he  made  a 
sudden  turn  that  well  nigh  capsized  the  boat,  but  we  went 
through  the  hazardous  ordeal  safely.  Finally  he  weakened, 
and  Will  poled  us  up  near  enough  to  give  him  one  of  the 
smaller  spears.  This,  by  a lucky  shot,  broke  his  back,  and 
nothing  now  remained  but  to  tow  him^rshore.  When  we 
reached  land  all  hands  went  ashore,  united  their  strength  and 
hauled  him  up.  He  measured  eight  feet  four  inches  in  length, 
and  weiged  227  pounds. 

With  this  capture  we  closed  the  evening’s  entertainment, 
and  went  home. 


218 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


There  are  many  sportsmen  who  condemn  fire-fishing  as  a 
species  of  butchery,  and  in  fact  I have  always  hitherto 
regarded  it  in  that  light  myself,  but  since  this  experience  I must 
admit  that  I rather  like  it.  I should  not  want  to  indulge  in 
it  often  even  now,  but  for  an  occasional  evening,  with  pleas- 
ant companions,  as  we  had  on  this  occasion,  and  in  waters 
teeming  with  fish,  as  do  those  of  the  Gulf  coast  of  Florida,  1 
must  accord  to  it  the  blue  ribbon  for  vigorous,  exciting  manly 
sport. 

Jack  and  I held  a consultation  before  retiring  that  night, 
and  decided  to  start  early  the  next  morning  for  a camp  hunt 
of  four  or  five  days  on  the  Myakka  river,  ten  miles  distant, 
where  turkeys,  deer  and  other  large  game  are  always 
plentiful. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


FOUR  DAYS  ON  THE  MYAICKA  RIVER. 

THE  CAMPING  GROUND  OF  COUGHPENNSLOUGH  — THE  “ PALMEETER  CAB- 
BAGE”— THE  SPORTSMAN’S  PARADISE  — I BECOME  PIOUS  — SATAN  TO 
THE  FRONT — A MOSSY  BED  — TA-WHOO-OO-OO-AH  — “ GOBBLE,  GOEBLEj 
GOBBLE” — THE  WOODS  ALIVE  WITH  SQUIRRELS  — THE  BOUNDING 
BUCK  — A FLOCK  OF  TURKEYS  — ROSEATE  SPOONBILLS  — THE  SAD 
WORDS  “ GOOD-BYE.” 

According  to  previous  arrangement  Jack  harnessed  the 
horse  and  hitched  him  to  the  cart.  We  loaded  in  our  tent, 
blankets,  provisions,  ammunition,  etc.;  he  took  the  lines, 
and  we  were  off  for  a four  days’  camp  hunt  on  the  Myakka 
river.  For  several  years  past  I have  heard  the  praises  of  this 
mystic  region  sung  by  sportsmen  who  have  visited  it  and 
experienced  its  charms,  and  the  glowing  accounts  I received 
of  it  from  Mr.  Webb  and  his  family  only  served  to  heighten 
my  anxiety  to  see  it  with  my  own  eyes.  We  left  home  at 
half-past  ten  in  the  morning.  Our  route  lay  through  a tract 
of  open  pine  woods,  the  monotony  of  which  was  relieved  by 
ponds  scattered  along  the  entire  distance,  at  each  of  which 
we  got  a shot  or  two  at  the  large  water  birds,  which  always 
hover  around  them. 

At  half-past  one  o’clock  we  arrived  at  the  scene  of  one  of 
Billy  Bowlegs’  old  camping  grounds  during  his  war  with  the 
United  States  troops.  He  gave  it  the  poetical  name  of 
Coughpennslough;  and  it  is  said  that  one  of  his  favorite 
warriors  lies  buried  not  far  from  here,  who  was  court-mar- 
tialed according  to  the  Indian  custom  and  shot  on  account  of 

219 


220 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


some  offensive  remark  made  in  the  chiefs  presence  concerning 
the  name  given  to  this  camp. 

We  took  dinner  on  this  historical  ground.  Our  box  of 
provisions  being  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart  and  covered  some 
two  feet  deep  with  our  bedding,  tent  and  other  camp  luggage, 
we  decided  not  to  undertake  the  task  of  digging  it  out,  but  to 
fall  back  on  the  resources  of  the  country  for  our  snack.  So 
we  took  out  the  ax  and  cut  down  a palmetto-tree,  then  we  cut 
off  about  two  feet  of  the  top  of  the  tree,  split  it  open  and 
took  out  the  central  portion  — the  bud  — a core  three  to  four 
inches  in  diameter  and  eighteen  to  twenty  inches  long.  Upon 
this,  seasoned  cum  grano  salis,  we  made  a frugal  lunch,  and 
one  which  any  epicure  might  have  envied  us. 

This  “palmeeter  cabbage,”  as  the  crackers  call  it,  is  really 
delicious  in  flavor  and  highly  nutritious.  It  is  white  and 
brittle  like  celery,  but  much  richer  in  taste.  The  people 
here  boil  it  for  the  table,  when  it  assumes  more  of  the  char- 
acter and  flavor  of  asparagus.  In  many  families  it  forms  a 
staple  article  of  food,  and  I am  of  the  opinion  that  were  it 
introduced  in  the  North  it  would  at  once  be  considered  a 
great  delicacy  there.  It  is  certainly  far  superior  to  celery  as 
a relish  or  asparagus  as  a side-dish. 

There  is  not  the  least  danger  of  any  one  starving  to  death 
in  a Florida  wood  so  long  as  he  have  an  ax  or  hatchet  with 
which  to  cut  palmetto  buds. 

Jack  and  I stored  away  a good-sized  bud,  and  after  eating 
two  or  three  oranges  each  by  way  of  dessert,  boarded  the 
“ Myakka  Express”  again  and  rolled  on  toward  the  happy 
hunting  ground.  When  we  got  within  two  and  a-half  miles 
of  the  river  we  stopped  and  cut  a liberal  supply  of  light-wood 
to  take  with  us,  as  no  pine  grows  nearer  the  stream  than  this, 
and  there  is  no  pleasure  in  camping  in  this  country  without  a 
liberal  supply  of  this  staple  commodity. 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


221 


In  fact,  many  Floridians  say  they  had  rather  try  to  keep 
house  without  sweet  potatoes  than  without  “lightard.” 
Jack  tells  a story  of  an  old  cracker  who  sold  his  farm  and 
prepared  to  move  out  of  a certain  township.  One  of  his 
neighbors  came  to  remonstrate  with  him,  and  asked  him 
what  he  wanted  to  leave  the  neighborhood  for ; if  this  were 
not  as  good  a country  to  live  in  as  any  other.  “Yes,”  said 
the  old  man;  “ this  is  a good  enough  country,  only  there’s  no 
lightard  here.” 

We  loaded  our  “lightard”  into  the  cart  and  drove  on. 
After  going  half  a mile  we  emerged  upon  a beautiful  broad 
prairie  some  two  miles  wide.  Upon  the  further  side  of  this 
we  saw  a strip  of  heavy  timber  through  which  runs  the  river. 
We  pushed  on  across  the  prairie  and  at  three  o’clock  entered 
a grove  of  tall,  stately  live-oaks  on  the  bank  of  the  long- 
looked-for  and  anxiously-sought  Myakka  river,  and  pitched 
our  tent.  And  what  a lovely  site  for  a camp ! It  is  on  a 
high  bank  where  the  river  makes  a horse-shoe  bend,  and  we 
are  in  the  toe  of  the  shoe,  so  to  speak.  The  massive  live- 
oaks  stand  close  together,  the  limbs  of  each  one  intertwining 
affectionately  with  those  of  its  neighbor,  and  the  long,  gray, 
Spanish  moss  hanging  to  within  a few  feet  of  the  ground.  This 
moss,  together  with  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  formed  a covering 
above  us  so  thick  as  to  entirely  exclude  the  rays  of  the  sun  by 
day  and  to  protect  us  from  the  dew  at  night.  The  river  is 
but  a few  feet  from  us  in  front  or  on  either  side,  and  in  the 
rear  are  open  glades  that  furnish  excellent  grazing  for  our 
horse. 

Jack  staked  him  out  and  we  took  our  guns  and  went  up 
the  river  for  a few  hours’  shooting  before  dark.  This  is  in- 
deed the  happy  hunting  ground  — the  sportsman’s  paradise. 

As  we  walked  quietly  around  a bend  in  the  river,  just  out 
of  sight  of  our  camp,  and  came  upon  an  open  glade  or 


222 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


meadow,  of  perhaps  an  acre,  a sight  met  our  eyes  that  might 
have  inspired  the  soul  of  a poet  to  sing  his  sweetest  songs,  or 
have  awakened  in  the  mind  of  the  prosiest  human  being 
visions  of  Paradise.  There  sat  great  flocks  of  large,  richly- 
colored  birds,  the  backs  of  which  were  nearly  white,  the 
wings  and  breast  a rich  and  varied  pink,  changing  in  some  of 
the  males  to  almost  a scarlet.  These  are  the  roseate  spoon- 
bill. 

In  another  part  of  the  glade  is  a large  flock  of  the  stately 
wood  ibis,  with  a body  of  pure  white,  and  the  wings  a 
glossy,  radiant  purple  and  black.  In  still  another  part,  a 
flock  of  snowy  white  egrets,  and  here  and  there  a blue  or 
gray  heron,  or  other  tropical  bird.  Alarmed  by  our  ap- 
proach they  all  arose,  but  as  if  aware  that  their  matchless 
beauty  was  a perfect  safeguard  against  the  destroying  hand  of 
man,  they  soared  around  over  our  heads  for  several  minutes 
before  flying  away.  As  they  thus  hovered  over  us  we  stood 
and  contemplated  the  scene  in  silent  awe  and  admiration. 
Our  guns  were  at  a parade  rest.  We  had  no  desire  to  stain  a 
single  one  of  their  elegant  plumes  with  their  rich  blood.  Our 
souls  were  filled  with  thoughts  of  heaven  and  the  bright  angels 
who  hover  o’er  its  golden  gates. 

Finally,  Jack  yielded  to  a desire  to  secure  one  of  the  birds 
for  mounting,  and  selecting  one  of  the  finest  specimens,  as 
they  sailed  over  us,  fired.  The  bird  fell  into  the  river, 
and  an  alligator,  a lank,  hungry,  ugly  looking  old  cuss,  who 
had  been  watching  for  such  a chance  to  secure  a meal,  went 
for  it  and  took  it  under  the  water  in  a twinkling. 

Then  our  visions  of  paradise  fled,  and  we  almost  imagined 
we  were  in  the  other  place,  face  to  face  with  old  Satan  him- 
self. 

We  strolled  up  the  river  a mile,  to  the  foot  of  Lower 
Myakka  Lake  which  is  about  a mile  and  a half  wide  at  the 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


223 


'videst  part  and  two  miles  long.  In  the  winter  season  it  is 
a favorite  duck  ground,  as  are  many  of  the  smaller  ponds 
along  the  river,  and  the  tropical  water  birds  breed  here  in 
great  numbers. 

We  saw  several  large  flocks  of  teal,  but  did  not  care  to 
shoot  them.  Jack  took  a shot  at  one  flock,  however,  and 
secured  three  for  supper. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  we  returned  to  camp  without 
finding  any  better  game.  We  proceeded  at  once  to  prepare 
supper,  put  up  the  tent,  make  beds,  etc.  We  dressed  our 
ducks,  cut  palmetto-stems,  split  one  end,  sharpened  the 
points  and  impaled  the  birds  on  them.  We  then  sharpened 
the  other  end  and  stuck  it  in  the  ground,  so  as  to  hold  the 
duck  over  the  fire.  They  were  soon  roasted  to  a turn.  It 
was  now  dark.  Jack  started  to  the  river  to  get  water  for  our 
coffee,  and' as  he  passed  the  end  of  a large  hollow  log  that 
lay  a few  feet  from  the  fire,  he  heard  a slight  noise  in  it.  We 
cut  a stick  and  passed  it  in,  when  we  found  there  was  “ some- 
thing alive  in  it,”  as  Dundreary  says  of  his  hat.  We  put  a 
bunch  of  dry  moss  in  the  opening  and  set  fire  to  it.  In  a 
few  minutes  a ’possum  came  tumbling  out  through  the  fire, 
and  old  Rover,  who  stood  there  waiting  for  him,  made  short 
work  of  him. 

After  supper  we  pulled  down  a large  quantity  of  moss  and 
made  a bed  in  the  tent,  that  a king  might  have  envied. 
I have  been  told  that  this  moss  was  full  of  red-bugs,  and  that 
any  one  who  attempted  to  sleep  on  it  would  find  himself 
drilled  full  of  holes  by  them  before  morning ; but  we  slept  on 
it  here  four  nights,  and  did  not  get  a single  bite. 

We  sat  around  the  fire  an  hour  chatting,  enjoying  the 
balmy  night  air  and  making  our  plans  for  the  morrow,  after 
which  we  laid  down, 

“ And  all  night  slept 
In  Elysium.” 


224 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


About  five  o’clock  in  the  morning, we  were  awakened  by  a 
great  owl  who  perched  on  a limb  directly  over  us,  and  called 
out  in  his  shrill,  piercing  voice,  Ta-whoo-oo-oo-ah  ! 

Jack  reached  for  his  gun,  crawled  out,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  which  shone  brightly  at  the  time,  shot  him.  Later 
in  the  day,  Jack  skinned  the  bird,  and  will  send  the  skin  to  a 
Boston  taxidermist.  His  stately  form  will  probably  ere  long 
adorn  the  window  of  some  apothecary’s  shop,  and  I would  that 
a photograph  of  the  scene  of  his  taking  off  might  be  hung 
beside  it.  It  would  add  greatly  to  the  interest  of  the 
occasion. 

There  were  the  heavy  branches  of  the  great  live-oaks 
draped  in  long  gray  moss,  with  the  pale  light  of  the  moon 
flittering  through  them ; the  blue  smoke  from  our  camp-fire 
curling  gently  up  through  the  trees ; Jack  in  his  long  white 
nightdress,  fluttering  ominously  in  the  wind,  stalking  through 
the  woods  with  his  gun  across  his  arm  like  a specter  ruffian, 
bent  on  some  foul  deed  of  midnight  murder.  Finally  there 
was  a flash,  a string  of  livid  fire  reaching  away  up  into  the 
tree-tops,  a sudden  peal  of  thunder,  a flapping  through  the 
branches,  a “thud  ” on  the  ground  and  all  was  silent  again. 
But  to  describe  it  is  unsatisfactory ; such  a picture  must  be 
seen  to  be  appreciated.  When  this  was  over  we  got  into  our 
harness,  put  a few  biscuits,  a few  oranges  and  some  salt  into 
our  game  bags,  and  as  soon  as  the  first  messenger  of  day  was 
visible  in  the  east,  we  started  down  the  river.  By  the  time 
we  had  gone  a mile  it  was  light.  As  we  entered  the  edge  of 
a small  hammock,  we  heard  a turkey  fly  into  a palmetto-tree. 
We  walked  cautiously  toward  the  tree  and  as  we  stopped  to 
listen  another  stepped  out  into  an  opening  not  more  than 
fifty  yards  away.  I raised  my  rifle  and  fired,  but  from  some 
unaccountable  cause,  missed.  The  bird  was  out  of  sight  be- 
fore Jack  could  get  a shot.  Then  we  ran  in  opposite  direc- 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


225 


tions  in  hopes  of  surprising  the  flock  and  getting  another 
shot.  Presently  I heard  both  barrels  of  Jack’s  gun  and  went 
toward  him.  I found  him  loading,  with  a fine  gobbler  lying 
dead  at  his  feet.  He  had  buckshot  in  one  barrel  and  num- 
ber six  in  the  other.  He  had  bagged  this  bird  with  the  buck- 

Q 

shot,  but  the  one  he  put  the  number  six  into,  although  badly 
hurt,  had  gone  away.  We  went  on  down  the  river  some 
three  miles  farther,  but  failed  to  get  another  shot.  The 
woods  are  literally  alive  with  squirrels  here,  but  no  one  shoots 
them;  they  are  considered  too  small  game  to  kill  in  this 
country.  Consequently  they  are  as  tame  as  the  English  spar- 
rows in  our  streets.  They  frequently  sit  and  bark  saucily  at 
us  while  we  pass  within  ten  feet  of  them.  It  is  no  uncom- 
mon thing  to  see  five  or  six  on  a single  tree.  About  ten 
o’clock  we  got  hungry  and  I picked  off  three  of  the  little 
fellows.  Jack  made  a fire  while  I dressed  them,  and  we  had 
them  on  toasting  sticks  almost  before  they  had  quit  kicking. 
They  were  soon  nicely  browned,  and  on  these,  with  the  bis- 
cuit we  had  brought  with  us,  we  made  a sumptuous  breakfast. 
We  then  returned  to  camp,  and  when  we  arrived  there,  found 
the  fire  we  had  lighted  in  the  hollow  leg  the  previous  night, 
to  smoke  the  ’possum  out,  still  burning. 

It  had  burned  the  top  of  the  log  off,  leaving  a large 
trough- shaped*  cavity  which  was  a mass  of  live  coals,  and 
which  served  as  a capital  oven  in  which  to  roast  our  turkey. 

We  dressed  the  turkey,  put  a stick  through  him,  drove  a 
fork  on  either  side  of  the  log,  and  laid  the  stick  in  the  forks, 
so  that  rhe  fowl  rested  over  the  hottest  part  of  the  fire.  As 
one  side  baked  done,  we  turned  him  over.  There  was  no 
smoke,  and  our  oven  was  a perfect  success.  Soon  after  we 
put  the  turkey  on,  we  heard  two  shots  about  a mile  west  of 
our  camp.  We  knew  at  once  it  was  Will,  who  had  promised 
15 


226 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


to  come  out  to-day  and  join  us,  so  we  answered  with  a double 
salute  from  Jack’s  gun. 

Just  as  dinner  was  ready,  Will  came  in  sight,  carrying  a 
fine  old  gobbler.  We  were  delighted  to  see  him  in  this  wil- 
derness, for  we  had  not  seen  a human  being,  nor  even  a track 
of  one,  since  leaving  home.  After  dining  heartily  on  roast 
turkey,  sweet  potatoes,  and  fresh  biscuits,  with  oranges  for 
dessert,  we  took  to  the  woods  again,  each  going  in  a different 
direction. 

Jack  crossed  the  river  and  went  east.  Will  went  down, 
and  I up  the  river.  I had  not  gone  more  than  a mile  when  I 
heard  a rattling  noise  in  the  sea-ash  thicket,  and  looking 
under  the  branches  saw  a fine  large  buck  come  bounding 
directly  toward  me.  He  had  been  frightened  by  something, 
probably  the  report  of  Jack’s  gun  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  He  had  not  yet  seen  me.  I stood  perfectly  still  until 
he  came  within  about  fifty  yards  of  me,  and  taking  a steady 
aim  at  his  breast,  fired.  He  turned  suddenly  to  the  right, 
made  one  jump,  and  fell  dead.  The  ball  had  gone  a little 
higher  than  I aimed,  and  entered  his  neck  near  the  base  of 
the  windpipe.  It  had  cut  the  windpipe  and  shattered  the 
neck  bone.  I dressed  the  animal,  and  found  he  was  rather 
heavy  to  carry,  so  returned  to  camp,  got  the  horse,  and  got 
back  to  camp  with  my  venison  just  as  Will  returned  from  the 
opposite  direction  with  another  good  large  gobbler. 

In  half  an  hour  more  Jack  returned  with  a turkey  and 
four  ducks ; with  this  score  we  closed  the  day’s  sport,  and 
spent  the  evening  after  supper  dressing  our  game.  While  we 
were  at  supper  a large  ’gator  raised  his  head  in  the  middle  of 
the  river  opposite  our  tent.  I sent  a message  from  “ old 
reliable,”  and  in  an  instant  more  he  was  lashing  the  water 
into  a foam,  minus  an  eye. 

At  daylight  the  following  morning  we  were  again  on  foot, 


THE  GUDF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


22J 


in  hope  of  finding  more  turkeys,  for  we  had  found  several 
large  flocks  already,  from  which  we  had  as  yet  taken  but  a 
few.  We  scattered,  and  an  occasional  shot  from  each  told 
the  others  that  our  search  was  not  in  vain.  About  ten  o’clock 
we  all  turned  up  at  camp  once  more,  and  pooled  our  issues. 
We  had  three  turkeys  in  all,  and  Jack  had  fourteen  coots  that 
he  had  killed  at  a single  shot.  We  then  roasted  one  of  the 
best  turkeys  and  a loin  of  venison,  in  our  hollow  log  oven — 
which  was  still  in  fine  condition — for  dinner.  As  I dressed 
the  turkey  I noticed  that  there  was  a large  cavity  in  it  after 
removing  the  entrails,  which  I thought  might  as  well  be 
utilized,  so  I put  a teal  duck  into  it,  and  placed  the  turkey 
over  the  fire  without  mentioning  it  to  either  of  the  boys. 
When  we  sat  down  to  dinner,  Jack  took  hold  of  the  turkey  to 
carve  it,  and  saw  a leg  of  the  duck  protruding.  He  pulled 
the  little  fellow  out,  held  it  up,  and  drily  remarked : “ Well, 
I’ve  traveled  this  road  a year  or  more,  but  never  saw  a gob- 
bler with  such  a young  one  in  before.”  The  “ young  one  ” 
was  well  done,  however,  and  we  relished  it  quite  as  much  as 
any  dish  on  the  bill  of  fare. 

After  dinner  I went  south  about  three  miles.  On  the  way 
I killed  a large  wood  ibis,  and  hung  it  up  in  a tree  so  that  I 
could  get  it  on  my  return.  I took  off  my  vest  and  buttoned 
it  around  him  to  keep  the  buzzards,  wild  cats,  etc.,  from 
eating  him.  Farther  down  the  stream  I saw  a flock  of  six  or 
eight  turkeys,  but  could  not  get  a shot  at  them.  About  sun- 
down I turned  and  started  toward  camp,  listening  intently  in 
hope  of  hearing  turkeys  coming  in  to  roost,  but  was  not 
favored  with  any  of  that  welcome  music.  I kept  a sharp 
lookout,  however,  in  all  the  tall  trees,  knowing  that  it  was 
possible  for  them  to  fly  in  within  a few  yards  of  me  without 
ray  hearing  them. 

Finally  I saw  one  in  the  top  of  a large  live-oak.  I fired, 


228 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


and  cut  out  a bunch  of  feathers,  but  the  bird  went  away.  I 
felt  very  sore  over  this  loss,  and  hurried  on  toward  camp. 

In  a few  minutes  I saw  another  in  a still  taller  tree.  It 
was  now  so  dark  I could  not  see  the  sights  of  my  rifle  at  all, 
so  I turned  down  the  rear  sight,  glanced  along  the  barrel, 
saw  the  large,  dark  body  of  my  bird  against  the  sky,  pulled, 
and  was  rewarded  by  seeing  him  tumble  through  the  thick 
branches  to  the  ground.  I was  under  the  tree  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  ground,  and  picking  him  up  hurried  on.  In  a 
few  minutes  I saw  another,  this  time  a large  gobbler,  perched 
high  in  the  top  of  a tall  tree.  When  I fired  he  started  to  fly 
toward  me,  but  by  the  time  he  got  over  me  his  strength 
failed,  and  he  fell  within  two  feet  of  where  I stood.  I slipped 
in  another  cartridge,  took  my  bird,  and  started  again. 

By  this  time  the  stars  were  shining,  but  I continued  to 
scan  the  tops  of  the  trees  closely.  Presently  I saw  another 
dark  object  against  the  sky,  and  knew  from  the  shape  that  it 
was  a turkey.  It  was,  perhaps,  thirty-five  yards  from  me.  I 
took  the  best  aim  I could,  pulled  and  scored  my  third  bird, 
this  time  a fat  young  hen. 

What  a magnificent  hand  ! Two  kings  and  a queen  ! For 
the  wild  turkey  is  truly  the  king  of  birds.  My  blood  bounded 
through  my  veins  as  I contemplated  my  game.  Three  straight 
birds,  two  in  deep  twilight  and  the  third  by  starlight.  Not  a 
bad  score  for  a rifle,  eh? 

It  was  now  so  dark  that  my  only  means  of  finding  my  way 
to  camp  was  by  following  the  bank  of  the  river.  It  was  light 
enough  close  to  the  water  to  walk  comfortably,  but  back  in 
the  thicket  it  was  so  dark  that  an  Indian  could  not  see  to  get 
through  it. 

I succeeded  in  finding  my  wood  ibis,  and  when  I added 
it  to  my  already  large  bag,  had  a full  load.  It  is  about  the 
same  size  as  the  turkey.  The  four  birds  weighed  over  fiftj 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


229 


pounds.  I tied  their  heads  together  and  swung  them  over  my 
shoulder,  two  in  front  and  two  behind. 

The  river  is  so  crooked  that  following  it  closely  made  me 
about  three  or  four  times  the  distance  to  walk  that  I should 
have  had  could  I have  gone  straight  through  the  woods,  and  I 
did  not  reach  camp  until  after  eight  o’clock.  Will  and  Jack 
were  there  dressing  game  and  preparing  supper.  Will  had 
brought  in  another  turkey,  and  Jack  a deer  and  twenty-one 
teal  ducks.  He  killed  the  ducks  at  two  shots  — thirteen  to 
his  first  barrel  and  eight  to  his  second.  Teal  are  very  plenti- 
ful here  and  very  tame.  The  mallards  and  other  large  ducks 
have  not  come  in  yet. 

We  were  out  at  daylight  again  the  following  morning  and 
decided  to  make  but  a brief  hunt  that  day  and  start  for  home 
at  noon.  A mile  below  camp  I got  a running  shot  at  a deer 
and  missed.  Soon  after  I came  upon  a flock  of  turkeys, 
feeding  under  some  live-oaks.  I knocked  one  over  and  as 
they  ran  tried  another  but  failed  to  get  him.  I then  started 
for  camp,  and  as  I had  no  hope  of  seeing  any  more  large  game 
concluded  to  take  in  a few  squirrels. 

As  I walked  rapidly  toward  camp  I picked  off  those  nearest 
to  my  path,  and  when  I got  in  and  counted  up  my  bag  had 
sixteen.  I also  killed  one  of  the  brightest  and  handsomest 
roseate  spoonbills  I could  find.  Not  having  time  to  skin  it 
properly  for  mounting  I cut  off  the  wings  and  head  and  shall 
preserve  them.  I did  the  same  with  my  wood  ibis,  killed  the 
day  before.  Soon  after  I reached  camp  Jack  came  in  with 
still  another  turkey.  Will  drew  a blank  this  time.  He  failed 
to  get  a shot  at  anything.  After  breakfast  we  broke  camp  and 
commenced  preparations  for  the  homeward  march.  I saw  a 
small  alligator  lying  on  the  bank  a few  rods  from  us,  and 
being  anxious  to  take  home  a skin  of  one,  picked  up  my  rifle. 
At  the  sight  of  it  he  went  into  the  water.  I waited  a few 


230 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


minutes  and  he  came  up  to  take  a look  at  me.  I sent  a ball 
through  his  head  and  pulled  him  out.  In  a few  minutes  he 
recovered  from  the  shock  and  commenced  thrashing  the 
ground  at  a lively  rate.  I cut  his  throat  open  and  severed  the 
windpipe,  but  he  would  not  lie  still  and  tried  very  hard  to 
breathe.  I opened  his  body  and  took  out  the  lungs,  heart 
and  all  the  entrails,  and  even  then  it  was  a full  hour  before 
it  would  lie  still  enough  for  me  to  skin  it.  If  a cat  has  nine 
lives,  this  animal  must  have  at  least  nineteen. 

I could  give  further  details  of  this  case  more  wonderful  by 
far  than  those  I have  mentioned,  but  I forbear,  lest  they  should 
prove  offensive  to  some  sensitive  reader. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  contortions  and  violent  struggles 
continued  for  at  least  three  hours  after  what  I have  described 
took  place.  I have  heard  some  most  marvelous  accounts  of 
this  animal’s  tenacity  of  life  — its  post  mortem  powers,  so  to 
speak. 

Will  Webb  told  me  that  he  killed  a large  one  near  their 
house  some  years  ago.  He  shot  it  through  the  head  several 
times  with  a rifle,  and  then  took  an  ax  and  pounded  its  head 
into  a pulp.  He  took  out  several  of  its  largest  teeth  to 
preserve  as  specimens;  then  cut  it  open  and  took  out  a 
quantity  of  the  fat  which  is  extensively  used  in  this  country 
for  gun  oil.  They  then  left  the  carcass  lying,  but  what  was 
their  surprise  on  going  back  the  next  day  to  bury  it,  to  find 
that  it  had  actually  crawled  away  ! They  could  see  its  trail, 
plainly,  where  it  had  gone  into  the  water.  Such  stories  sound 
incredible,  but  the  facts  can  be  corroborated  by  correspon- 
dence or  conversation  with  anyone  who  is  familiar  with  the 
nature  and  habits  of  the  ’gator. 

We  loaded  our  game  and  camp  equipage  into  the  cart  and 
about  one  o’clock  p.m.  reluctantly  bade  adieu  to  the  enchant- 
ing Myakka,  with  all  its  charming  associations;  its  great  live- 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


231 


oak  forests;  its  dense  sea-ash  thickets;  its  everglades;  its 
flaming-hued  water  birds ; its  deer,  turkeys,  and  the  thousand 
and  one  other  attractions  that  render  it  so  dear  to  a sportsman 
and  a lover  of  nature. 

Though  I may  in  future  years  visit  every  famous  hunting 
ground  on  the  continent ; though  all  such  trips  may  be  emi- 
nently successful,  I can  never  hope  to  experience  more 
genuine  pleasure  in  so  short  a period  of  time  than  I did  in 
this  four  days  on  the  Myakka  river.  I shall  ever  cherish  it  in 
my  memory  as  one  of  the  brightest,  most  romantic  and  excit- 
ing episodes  of  my  whole  life. 

We  arrived  at  Mr.  Webb’s  just  as  the  sun  was  going  down 
among  the  white  caps  on  the  Gulf,  and  on  the  morrow  began 
preparations  for  our  return  North.  We  packed  our  trunks, 
taking  great  care  to  put  our  collection  of  specimens  in  in  such 
a manner  that  they  would  carry  safely.  Mr.  Webb  loaded 
about  thirty  boxes  of  oranges,  our  baggage  and  two  days  pro- 
visions into  the  little  “ Sea  Bird.”  By  this  time  night  had 
arrived,  and  it  being  our  last  night  here  we  concluded  to  go 
fire-fishing  once  more. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  Jack,  Mr.  Griffith  and  myself  took 
the  spears,  lit  our  fire  in  the  fishing-jack  and  pushed  off.  We 
had  excellent  sport  and  killed  a large  number  of  fine  fish. 
Among  the  number  was  one  angel-fish,  a variety  we  had  not 
caught  before.  We  also  killed  a good-sized  sting-ray,  and  I 
preserved  his  tail.  It  is  only  an  inch  in  diameter  at  the  base 
and  twenty-three  inches  long.  We  returned  to  the  house 
about  nine  o’clock,  having  taken  over  sixty  pounds  of  fish. 

The  next  morning,  December  nth,  we  stepped  on  board 
the  “Sea  Bird.”  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Griffith,  Jack,  my  wife  and 
I,  and  sailed  for  Manatee,  where  we  were  to  take  the  steamer 
for  Cedar  Key. 

We  got  into  the  Mangroves  at  low  tide,  about  noon, 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


2?2 

and  had  considerable  difficulty  in  getting  through  them.  Jack 
had  to  wade  ashore  and  get  a skiff,  with  which  we  transferred 
our  freight  and  passengers  over  the  worst  portions  until  the 
boat  was  light  enough  to  pass  the  shoals.  We  got  through 
about  five  o’clock,  and  from  there  we  had  a smooth  voyage. 
We  sailed  all  night,  Jack  and  Mr.  Griffith  taking  turns  at  the 
helm.  About  ten  o’clock  we  spread  our  blankets  on  the  deck, 
laid  down,  and  slept  soundly  with  the  canopy  of  heaven  as 
our  only  covering.  The  ladies  made  no  complaint  at  this 
rough  fare,  but  on  the  contrary  really  enjoyed  the  novelty 
and  romance  of  it.  At  six  o’clock  in  the  morning  we  landed, 
made  coffee,  and  ate  a hearty  breakfast  of  cold  turkey,  bis- 
cuits, etc.,  with  some  delicious  bananas  fresh  from  Mr. 
Griffith’s  grove,  for  desert. 

We  landed  at  Manatee  at  two  P.M.,  just  as  the  steamer 
“ Valley  City”  hove  in  sight.  Here  we  were  compelled  to 
say  the  sad  words  “good-bye  ” to  our  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
G.,  and  Jack.  We  boarded  the  steamer  and  were  soon 
under  way  for  Cedar  Key,  where  we  arrived  early  the  next 
morning.  At  night  we  went  out  on  a small  schooner  to  take 
the  Havana  steamer  which  lay  at  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  the 
harbor,  eight  miles  out,  for  New  Orleans.  But  soon  after  we 
left  the  wharf  a storm  came  on,  and  it  grew  so  dark  and  the 
water  so  rough  that  the  pilot  said  he  could  not  follow  the 
channel,  and  was  obliged  to  cast  anchor. 

So  we  were  compelled  to  lay  here  all  night,  cooped  up  in 
the  hold  of  this  little  vessel,  with  no  room  to  lie  down  and 
scarcely  room  to  sit  down.  It  rained  in  torrents  nearly  all 
night,  and  blew  in  upon  us  every  time  the  hatch  was  opened, 
which  seemed  to  be  about  every  ten  minutes.  When  day- 
light came,  we  found  that  the  tide  had  gone  out  and  left  us 
aground  “high  and  dry.”  We  waited  patiently  until  about 
eleven  o’clock  a.m.,  when  it  kindly  came  in  again  and  took 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


233 


us  off  the  bar.  The  storm  having  abated,  we  were  now  en- 
abled to  go  on  our  way  rejoicing,  and  reached  the  steamer 
v about  noon.  Having  been  cooped  up  on  the  little  schooner 
eighteen  hours  without  food,  drink,  or  a placeHo  lay  our 
heads,  we  were  truly  grateful  when  we  entered  the  commodi- 
ous and  handsome  cabin  of  the  good  steamer  “ Chase,”  and 
when  a few  moments  later  we  were  called  to  a sumptuous  and 
palatable  dinner,  Captain  Baker’s  order  to  us  to  help  our- 
selves was  obeyed  as  promptly  and  vigorously  as  was  any  com- 
mand he  ever  gave  his  obedient  and  well-disciplined  crew. 
We  had  rough  weather  all  the  way  across  the  Gulf,  and  were 
glad  when  we  entered  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  river  and 
the  vessel  ceased  her  uneasy  rolling  and  tossing.  We  passed 
the  Eads  jetties  just  after  daylight  on  the  third  morning  after 
leaving  Cedar  Key,  and  had  a pleasant  and  interesting  trip 
up  the  river,  arriving  at  New  Orleans  late  at  night. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


WORDS  OF  ADVICE  TO  TOURISTS  TO  FLORIDA. 

EXPENSES  OF  A TRIP  — MUST  CALL  AT  ST.  AUGUSTINE  — BRING  YOUR  GUN 
AND  RIFLE  — PROVIDE  PLENTY  OF  AMMUNITION  — DON’T  FORGET 
SHARK  TACKLE — TAKE  A SMALL  TENT- — -A  LIGHT  RUBBER  COAT — AND 
A HEAVY  BLANKET  — THE  ONLY  FOOT-GEAR  NEEDED  IS  A PAIR  OF 
COWHIDE  SHOES  — TAKE  ALSO  SOME  SIMPLE-  MEDICINES  — QUI- 
NINE-CALOMEL— THE  EXPENSES  OF  THE  JOURNEY  SMALL. 

There  are,  perhaps,  a few  sportsmen  in  the  country  who 
have  not  at  some  time  felt  a wish  to  visit  Florida,  and  per- 
haps a majority  have  thought  of  a trip  to  the  “ land-  of  flow- 
ers ” as  among  the  possibilities  of  the  “dim  distant  future.” 
Others  have  gone  farther,  and  planned  the  trip  into  definite 
shape,  even  to  fixing  the  time  of  starting. 

In  the  minds  of  such  the  first  questions  arising  are,  Whal 
is  the  best  route  to  Florida?  What  portions  of  the  state  are 
the  most  prolific  in  game  and  fish  ? In  which  localities  can 
I find  the  best  accommodations  at  the  lowest  prices  ? What 
class  of  guns,  ammunition,  and  fishing  tackle  will  I most 
need  for  the  game  and  fish  peculiar  to  the  country  ? 

What  will  be  the  necessary  expense  of  a two  or  three 
months’  trip  to  Florida  and  what  season  of  the  year  is  most 
suitable  for  such  a trip?  These  and  similar  questions  have 
been  asked  me  repeatedly  since  my  return  from  Florida,  and 
it  is  my  purpose  in  this  chapter  to  answer  them  to  the  best  of 
my  ability,  and  to  give  such  other  facts  as  in  my  judgment 
may  be  useful  to  persons  going  there.  First,  then,  as  to  the 
route.  Competing  lines  of  railroad  offer  several  different 
routes,  each  possessing  certain  advantages,  but  perhaps  the 

834 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


235 


shortest  and  most  direct,  and  that  by  which  the  trip  may  be 
made  in  the  shortest  space  of  time,  is  by  way  of  Louisville, 
Nashville,  and  Montgomery,  Ala.  By  this  route,  tickets  to 
'Cedar  Key  and  return  may  be  purchased  over  either  of  two 
or  three  roads  running  south  from  .Chicago,  good  for  six 
months,  for  about  $65.  This  route  takes  the  tourist  to  Bald- 
win, only  twenty  miles  from  Jacksonville.  Here  a stop-over 
check  should  be  procured,  good  for  fifteen  days,  in  order  to 
visit  Jacksonville,  St.  Augustine,  and  to  make  a trip  by 
steamer  up  the  St.  John’s  and  Oclawaha  rivers. 

No  trip  to  Florida  could  be  complete  if  it  did  not  include 
a view  of  the  magnificent  scenery  of  these  two  streams,  ancl 
of  the  antique  city  of  St.  Augustine.  The  additional  ex- 
pense of  this  trip,  to  the  sum  above  stated,  would  be  about 
$ 2 7,  including  meals  on  the  river  steamers,  making  the  round 
trip  from  .Chicago  to  Cedar  Key  and  return  cost  $93.  The 
distance  thus  traveled  will  be  about  2,800  miles  by  rail,  and 
about  950  miles  by  water  — 475  on  the  St.  John’s  and  450  on 
the  Oclawaha. 

If  a party  of  three  or  more  go  together,  excursion  rates 
may  be  procured  that  will  materially  reduce  the  rates  of  fare 
as  above  stated. 

As  to  the  portions  of  the  state  where  fish  and  game  are 
most  abundant,  opinions  of  those  who  have  spent  much  time 
in  traveling  over  the  state  differ.  Some  claim  that  the  Indian 
river  country  is  the  best;  others  that  the  Oclawaha  and  St. 
John’s  rivers  flow  through  the  finest  game  country,  but,  all 
things  considered,  I am  of  the  opinion  that  for  both  fishing 
and  shooting  the  lower  portion  of  the  Gulf  coast  is  unsur- 
passed by  any  other  part  of  the  state.  Besides,  it  is  more 
easily  accessible  than  other  favorable  resorts,  and  the  accommo- 
dations that  sportsmen  may  find  there  are  better  than  those 
usually  found,  on  the  Indian  river  especially.  Steamships  run 


236 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


twice  a week  from  Cedar  Key  to  Manatee,  and  after  reaching 
that  point  the  sportsman  cannot  fail  to  find  fish  and  game 
abundant  at  every  turn. 

Then,  as  he  proceeds  south  along  Sarasota  Bay,  Charlotte 
Harbor,  Oyster  Bay,  San  Carlos  Harbor,  Cape  Romano  and 
Ten  Thousand  Isles,  the  field  grows  richer  all  the  time.  At 
Manatee  a small  schooner  can  be  chartered  to  take  a single 
person  or  party  of  five  or  ten  to  Mr.  Webb’s,  a distance  of 
forty-five  miles,  for  $10.  Or,  if  notified  by  mail  a few  days 
in  advance,  Captain  Will  Webb  will  meet  the  steamer  at 
Manatee  with  his  new  schooner,  the  “Vision,”  and  take 
passengers  to  his  father’s  house  free  of  charge.  Here  first- 
class  accommodations  can  be  secured  at  five  dollars  a week, 
including  use  of  small  boats  for  fishing,  jack-lights  and  spears 
for  fire-fishing,  etc.  Will  charters  his  schooner  to  parties  at 
five  dollars  a day,  including  his  services  and  those  of  two 
other  men,  and  two  small  boats  for  running  up  small  streams 
into  the  interior  of  the  country.  No  better  or  pleasanter 
outfit  than  this  for  a coasting  expedition  could  be  imagined. 

The  schooner  is  new,  is  thirty-six  feet  long,  thirteen  feet 
beam,  has  a capacity  of  nine  tons,  and  draws  but  two  and  a- 
half  feet  of  water.  It  has  sleeping  accommodations  for  ten 
persons,  is  strongly  built  and  substantially,  so  as  to  be  thor- 
oughly sea-worthy  in  any  weather,  and  yet  is  of  such  light 
draft  as  to  be  able  to  ascend  the  larger  streams  and  run  into 
small  bays  and  inlets  where  many  vessels  of  less  capacity 
could  not  go.  By  taking  along  a small  supply  of  provisions, 
a party  of  five  can  live  comfortably  on  this  vessel  for  four  to 
five  dollars  a week  each. 

Captain  Will  and  his  brother  Jack,  who  always  accom- 
panies him  on  these  expeditions,  are  both  competent  guides 
and  know  every  foot  of  the  ground,  so  that  no  additional 
expense  need  be  incurred  in  this  direction.  In  a cruise  of 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


237 


three  to  four  weeks  the  entire  coast  can  be  thoroughly  ex- 
plored, hunted  and  fished,  from  Webb’s  to  the  Florida  reefs, 
at  the  extreme  south  end  of  the  peninsula,  including  short 
trips  up  the  Myakka,  Caloosahatchie,  Fahkahnatehee  and  other 
livers.  At  Cape  Romano,  Fort  Myers,  Punta  Rassa,  Fort 
Poinsett  and  many  other  points  along  the  coast,  deer  are 
abundant,  and  bears,  panthers,  wild  cats  and  wolves  are  fre- 
quently met  with.  The  fishing  is  superb  all  along  the  coast, 
and  the  naturalist  may  collect  many  rare  and  interesting 
icthyological,  ornithological  and  conchological  specimens 
not  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  the  United  States. 

A shot-gun  and  rifle  will  both  be  needed,  thougn  a 
cylinder-bore  shot-gun,  and  supply  of  buck-shot  cartridges  in 
addition  to  the  supply  of  small-shot  may  answer  all  purposes. 
The  greater  need  of  the  rifle  is  for  the  larger  game  which 
frequently  offers  long  range  shots  where  a shot-gun  is  entirely 
useless,  and  if  the  sportsman  be  a clever  rifle  shot,  he  should 
always  provide  himself  with  both. 

A large  supply  of  ammunition  should  be  provided  for 
each,  for  there  is  such  a great  variety  and  such  countless 
numbers  of  birds^  and  animals  constantly  presenting  them- 
selves, that  although  many  of  them  be  not  game,  still  the 
temptation  to  shoot  them  is  so  strong  that  few  resist  it.  For 
instance,  there  are  cranes,  pelicans,  cormorants,  water 
turkeys,  alligators,  etc.,  offering  shots-  at  all  ranges,  and 
affording  such  fine  opportunities  for  practice  that  any  one  is 
justifiable  in  improving  these  opportunities  when  not  in 
localities  where  game  is  to  be  found.  I estimate,  from 
experience  and  observation,  that  an  enthusiastic  sportsman 
will  shoot  away  300  shells  in  each  week  that  he  may  spend  in 
Florida,  and  if  he  be  provided  with  rifle  and  shot-gun  both, 
perhaps  an  equal  division  of  this  number  between  the  two 
would  not  be  far  from  the  proper  figure. 


238 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


A liberal  supply  and  good  assortment  of  fishing  tackle 
should  be  taken,  and  this  of  the  best  quality.  The  native  Flo- 
ridian uses  only  a heavy  hand-line  and  large,  strong  hook  for 
his  fishing,  his  motive  being  fish  not  sport;  and  he  will  laugh 
at  the  sportsman  who  goes  there  from  the  North  supplied  with 
fine  tackle.  He  will  tell  you  that  you  will  lose  your  fine  line, 
and  perhaps  your  rod  and  reel,  before  you  fish  an  hour ; that 
a twenty-pound  red-fish,  drum  or  grouper,  or  a hundred- 
pound  jew-fish  or  shark  will  probably  walk  away  with  them 
before  you  have  fairly  commenced  fishing.  But  he  is  wel- 
come to  his  opinion  and  his  heavy  hand-line.  I prefer  my 
good,  strong  bamboo  bass  rod,  my  Meek  & Milam  reel,  my 
fine-braided  linen  or  sea-grass  line,  patent  sinker  and  Lim- 
erick hook.  There  is  a pleasure  in  fishing  with  fine  tackle, 
even  if  you  don’t  get  a bite,  and  if  you  do  get  one  there  is  so 
much  more  sport  in  handling  your  fish  with  your  fine  tackle 
than  with  your  “main  strength”  tackle,  that  any  true  disciple 
of  Izaak  had  rather  catch  one  fish  with  the  former  than  half  a 
dozen  with  the  latter. 

I grant  that  you  will  frequently  lose  a hook  when  a shark, 
jew-fish,  taupon,  or  other  «sea-monster  takes  hold  of  it,  as 
they  frequently  do,  but  on  the  contrary  you  will  take  many  a 
fine,  sensitive,  gamy  fish  that  would  be  frightened  away  by 
your  neighbor’s  clothes-line  and  awkward-looking  slug  of 
lead. 

Shark  tackle  is  all  well  enough  when  you  go  fishing  for 
sharks,  but  when  fishing  for  game  fish  use  fine  tackle. 
Take  with  you  then  a good,  strong  but  light  and  flexible  bass 
or  salmon  rod,  a supply  of  Bradford  & Anthony’s  hard  braid 
water-proof  linen  lines,  a number  5 or  6 Milam  reel,  a supply 
of  Limerick  hooks,  assorted  sizes,  from  number  3-0  to  number 
9-0,  a lot  of  artificial  minnows  and  spoons  for  trolling,  a 
landing  net,  a gaff-hook,  and  you  will  be  properly  equipped 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


239 


in  that  line.  A minnow  seine  would  also  be  desirable,  as  live 
minnows  are  the  best  bait  attainable  for  many  of  the  best  salt- 
water fish,  and  few  people  there  have  any  better  arrangement 
for  catching  minnows  than  with  a “pin  hook,”  which  is  de- 
cidedly slow. 

A supply  of  first-class  shark  tackle  should  by  all  means 
be  taken' along,  for  much  exciting  sport  may  be  had  hooking 
these  and  other  monsters  of  the  deep.  About  fifty  feet  of 
strong,  half-inch  rope,  two  feet  of  chain,  such  as  is  used  for 
halter  chain  for  horses,  to  go  next  the  hook  for  a leader,  if 
you  please,  and  half  a dozen  large-sized  shark  hooks  complete 
the  list. 

These  latter  may  not  be  found  in  Chicago  but  can  be  or- 
dered from  the  East.  It  is  not  advisable  to  depend  upon  get- 
ting anything  needed  for  the  trip  after  reaching  Jacksonville  or 
Cedar  Key,  for  neither  the  goods  nor  the  assortments  kept 
there  will  be  found  at  all  satisfactory.  A couple  of  spears, 
one  large  and  heavy,  suitable  for  shark,  etc.,  and  one  smaller 
for  other  fish  will  also  be  found  a good  investment.  Most 
residents  and  guides  have  these,  but  not  in  sufficient  numbers 
to  supply  parties  where  several  wish  to  use  them  at  the  same 
time. 

Each  person  or  each  party  of  two  should  take  a small,  light 
tent,  capable  of  accommodating  two  for  camping  expeditions, 
and  this  should  be  provided  with  light  muslin  ends,  thin 
enough  to  admit  the  air  freely,  but  thick  enough  to  exclude 
sand-flies  and  mosquitos.  The  ordinary  musquito  bar  is 
useless  in  Florida,  for  the  sand-flies,  which  are  far  more 
troublesome  than  the  musquitoes,  pass  through  it  readily. 
Each  person  should  take  a good  heavy  blanket,  and  will  find 
use  for  it  almost  any  time  in  the  year  if  camping.  The  clothe 
ing  should  be  strong,  but  light,  so  as  not  to  be  oppressive 
during  the  hot  days  that  the  visitor  will  experience,  even  in 


240 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


midwinter.  A light  rubber  coat  will  be  found  an  indispensa- 
ble necessity  as  a protection  against  the  frequent  rains  and 
heavy  dews  when  out  at  night.  A rubber  pillow  will  also 
add  greatly  to  the  comfort  of  the  trip.  Rubber  boots  are  not 
needed.  You  can  wade  in  the  salt  water  all  day  and  all 
night  if  need  be,  and  experience  no  bad  effects  from  it ; be- 
sides, the  weather  is  so  hot  as  to  render  rubber  boots  de- 
cidedly uncomfortable.  The  only  foot  gear  needed  is  a pair 
of  cheap,  heavy  cow-hide  shoes.  They  should  be  cheap,  for 
the  salt  water  will  rot  them  out  in  a few  weeks.  Every  one 
who  goes  to  Florida  has  wet  feet  every  day,  and  still,  colds, 
sore  throats,  and  the  like  are  unknown  there.  The  ‘ ‘ Crackers,  ’ ’ 
who  live  on  and  near  the  coast,  are  in  the  water  almost  every 
day  of  their  lives  gathering  oysters,  fishing,  lifting  their 
boats  over  the  shoals,  etc.,  and  yet  they  are  uniformly  healthy. 
Indeed,  it  is  said  that  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  barni- 
cles  growing  on  their  legs,  so  much  of  their  time  is  spent  in 
the  water. 

It  would  be  well  to  take  along  a few  simple  medicines, 
such  as  quinine,  calomel,  etc.,  to  be  used  as  occasion  may 
require.  The  radical  change  in  climate  usually  affects  the 
health  more  or  less.  Any  physician  will  tell  you  what 
would  be  most  suitable  in  this  line. 

Aside  from  the  items  mentioned  above,  but  little  baggage 
will  be  needed,  and  but  little  should  be  taken.  Good  clothes 
are  not  needed  and  will  look  out  of  place  after  you  reach  the 
thinly-settled  districts.  No  books  need  be  taken,  for  you  will 
have  neither  time  nor  taste  for  reading,  and  they  will  only 
add  to  the  bulk  and  weight  of  your  luggage,  unnecessarily. 
There  are  so  many  wonders  and  objects  of  interest  in  this 
marvelous  region  that  you  could  not  spare  time  to  read  an 
hour  each  week  if  you  had  a whole  library  at  your  disposal. 

As  to  the  necessary  expense  of  the  trip,  one  hundred  dol- 


THE  GULF  COAST  OF  FLORIDA. 


241 


lars  will  pay  the  railroad  and  steamboat  fare  for  the  round 
trip,  including  the  run  up  the  St.  John’s  and  Oclawaha  rivers 
£nd  to  St.  Augustine.  This  includes  steamboat  fare  from 
Cedar  Key  to  Manatee  and  return.  Ten  dollars  per  week 
will  cover  all  necessary  expenses  while  on  the  lower  coast,  and 
a much  less  sum — perhaps  five  dollars  a week — will  cover  them 
if  a party  of  three  or  more  go  together,  so  that  for  a trip  of 
two  months,  including. the  time  of  going  and  coming,  the 
necessary  expense  for  one  person  alone  can  be  limited  to 
about  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars,  and  considerably 
less  where  several  go  together. 


IS 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  BOYHOOD. 

BACK  TO  THE  OLD  HOME  — THE  BARRETT  BOYS  — THE  OLD  SCHOOL- 
HOUSE — HAIL,  GENTLE  ROBIN — THE  OLD  FENCE  CORNER  — THE 
CHURCHYARD  — THE  SNOW-BALL  CONFLICTS. 

“ I’ll  wander  back,  yes,  back  again, 

Where  childhood’s  home  may  be, 

For  memory  in  sweet  refrain 
Still  sings  its  praise  to  me.” 

Man  may  roam  wheresoever  he  will,  and  his  absence  be 
prolonged  to  whatever  extent  it  may,  yet  the  memory  of  the 
old  homestead  will  always  be  cherished.  The  reflex  of  the 
scenes  of  childhood  are  indelibly  stamped  upon  the  human 
mind,  and  can  never  be  effaced.  In  the  midst  of  busy  scenes, 
of  exciting  surroundings,  when  the  mind  is  weighed  down 
with  the  cares  of  business,  how  often  does  memory  steal  away 
from  the  harsh,  practical  present  into  the  dreamy,  poetical 
past,  and  recall  the  days  of  childhood,  of  boyhood,  of  youth. 
How  whole  years  of  that  blissful  period  of  life  will  pass  in 
rapid  review  through  the  imagination,  and  how  fervently  do 
we  sigh  as  we  awaken  from  the  delightful  reverie  : 

“ Backward,  turn  backward,  O Time,  in  thy  flight, 

And  make  me  a boy  again,  just  for  to-night.” 

And  yet  when  we  realize  that  it  cannot  be  so,  that  “ the 
past  is  joined  to  the  eternal  past,”  we  brush  the  tear  from  the 
furrowed  cheek,  and  return  to  the  realities  of  the  nour 

For  nearly  a quarter  of  a century  since  I left  the  old  home, 
I have  roamed  through  the  world  and  battled  with  its  stern 
realities.  During  that  time  I have  seen,  perhaps,  as  much  of 

242 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


243 


life  as  is  usually  given  to  men  to  see  in  the  same  period. 
Fortune  has  smiled  and  frowned  upon  me  by  turns,  but  even 
under  the  influence  of  her  brightest  smiles  I have  never  for- 
gotten the  humble  home,  the  old  log  cot,  wherein  were  spent 
as  many  happy  days  as  were  ever  allotted  to  any  human  being 
in  a like  number  of  years,  no  matter  with  what  luxuries  he 
/nay  have  been  surrounded.  From  the  splendors  of  capitals, 
of  fashionable  salons ; from  amid  brilliant  circles  of  gay 
friends  ; from  the  banquet  table,  my  thoughts  have  oft  turned 
toward  the  old,  old  homestead,  and  with- the  poet  I have  sung: 


“ Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there’s  no  place  like  home.” 

I have  often  sighed  for  a look  at  the  old  home,  the  hills, 
the  rocks,  the  trees,  the  little  brook,  and  the  many  objects 
whose  images  are  so  indelibly  stamped  upon  my  memory,  but 
never  until  now  have  my  longings  been  gratified. 

After  an  absence  of  more  than  twenty  years,  I find  myself 
standing  on  the  platform  at  the  railroad  depot  which  is  nearest 
to  my  old  home.  The  train  has  moved  away,  and  I turn  to  a 
stranger  who  stands  near,  and  inquire  for  certain  of  my  old 
friends  and  neighbors.  To  my  great  delight  I learn  that 
|nany  of  them  still  live  in  the  neighborhood,  and  I start  at 
once  in  search  of  them.  I choose  to  go  across  fields  and 
through  woods,  in  order  to  examine  well  remembered  objects 
and  localities,  and  see  if  they  still  have  the  familiar  look  they 
had  when  last  I saw  them. 

I am  told  that  about  a mile  from  the  station  three  of  my 
old  schoolmates,  the  “Barrett  boys,”  are  living  on  adjoining 
farms,  and  thitherward  I wend  my  way.  First  I find  little 
Harry,  the  happy,  genial  lad  of  bygone  days,  and  always  one 
of  the  favorites  of  the  school,  with  both  the  teacher  and  the 
pupils.  Now  he  has  grown  to  manhood,  is  a well-to-do 
farmer,  married,  and  has  several  children  growing  up  around 
him.  But  he  is  the  same  bright,  cheerful,  agreeable  Harry 


244 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


as  of  old.  He  told  me  of  nearly  all  our  old  playmates; 
where  they  were,  how  they  had  succeeded  or  failed  in  life, 
etc.  Our  interview  was  intensely  interesting  to  me,  but 
could  not  be  prolonged,  for  my  time  was  limited.  Next  I 
sought  A1  and  George,  and  after  like  pleasant  chats  with 
them,  I continued  my  rambles. 

I directed  my  steps  next  toward  the  old  schoolhouse,  and 
in  doing  so  passed  over  a piece  of  road  that  I had  traveled 
hundreds  of  times  before.  It  leads  from  my  father’s  old 
farm  to  where  a favorite  uncle  then  lived,  a distance  of  two 
miles.  At  that  time  it  wound  through  a dense  wood  nearly 
the  entire  distance.  Now  this  is  nearly  all  cut  away,  and 
rich  fields  of  grain  are  growing  on  the  ground  that  was  then 
shadowed  by  giant  oaks. 

Here  is  the  “big  mound,”  but  how  much  smaller  it  looks 
now  than  formerly.  Then  we  thought  it  a mountain,  and 
to  climb  to  the  top  of  it  was  considered  a great  feat.  In- 
deed, it  is  a high  hill,  and  from  its  top  one  may  see  into 
two  or  three  adjoining  counties ; but  since  I left  here  I have 
seen  and  ascended  mountains  so  high,  that,  by  their  side, 
this  looks  like  a mole-hill. 

I was  frequently  sent  on  errands  to  my  uncle’s,  and  passed 
over  the  ground  upon  which  I now  stand  alone.  I can  see 
myself  now, 

“ In  my  mind’s  eye,  Horatio,” 

a little  barefooted  lad,  with  skin  tanned  to  almost  a coffee 
brown  by  the  summer’s  sun;  clad  in  a “hickory”  shirt,  a 
pair  of  blue  derning  pants,  rolled  up  to  the  knee  and  held  by 
one  suspender ; a home-made  straw  hat,  generally  minus 
either  a rim  or  crown,  for  I used  it  to  carry  stones  in  to 
throw  at  birds,  to  catch  ball,  or  for  any  other  purpose  I hap- 
pened to  want  it  for. 

I remember  on  one  occasion  I was  walking  leisurely  along, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


245 


in  a brown  study  about  how  I should  slay  the  deer,  bears, 
buffaloes,  and  other  large  animals  when  I got  “big.”  I was 
so  absorbed  in  my  reverie  that  I did  not  notice  a hog  that 
had  his  snout  under  the  dry  leaves,  and  was  eating  acorns 
just  here,  under  this  large  oak.  He  did  not  see  me  until  I 
was  within  a few  feet  of  him,  when  he  happened  to  raise  his 
head.  He  was  wild,  and  with  a loud  “woo,”  broke  away 
through  the  dry  leaves  at  a rapid  pace,  making  a great  racket. 
I didn’t  wait  to  see  what  it  was,  but  thinking  it  surely  a bear, 
or  some  other  wild  animal,  just  in  the  act  of  springing  upon 
me,  I turned  and  fled,  screaming  for  help  at  <?very  jump,  and 
ran  until  I was  out  of  breath  before  I looked  around  to  see 
how  close  it  was  to  me.  Then,  when  I found  it  was  not  fol- 
lowing me,  I stopped  and  listened.  I wondered  what  it  was, 
and  finally,  after  thinking  the  matter  over  a while,  and  call- 
ing to  mind  what  kind  of  an  animal  I had  often  heard  make 
such  a noise  as  that,  I concluded  that  I had  made  a fool  of 
myself,  and  went  on  about  my  business. 

On  another  occasion  as  I was  passing  near  the  same  place, 
I alarmed  a flock  of  wild  turkeys,  and  they  flew  into  the  trees. 
I had  my  pockets  full  of  rocks  as  usual,  and  commenced 
throwing  at  them.  After  several  misses,  I happened  to  hit 
one  on  the  neck  and  killed  it.  It  was  about  two-thirds  grown, 
and  I carried  it  home  in  great  glee.  I have  my  doubts  now 
about  their  having  been  “wild,”  sure  enough,  for  there  was  a 
farm-house  not  far  away  where  they  may  have  belonged,  but  I 
was  honest  in  my  belief  then  that  they  were  really  wild,  and 
so  my  conscience  has  never  upbraided  me  for  killing  it.  But 
wild  turkeys  don’t  generally  sit  and  let  a boy  throw  stones  at 
them  very  long ; neither  do  tame  turkeys  usually  take  to  trees 
when  frightened,  so  it  is  still  a question  as  to  whether  they 
were  wild  or  not. 

How  strangely  familiar  this  old  road  looks ! Here  is  a 


246 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


large  tract  of  the  old  forest  that  still  stands  in  all  its  virgin 
grandeur.  Here  stand  the  great  spreading  oaks,  the  tall 
graceful  maples,  the  sweet:scented  lindens.  Here  still  grow 
the-  dear  old  May-apples,  whose  thickly-spreading  umbrellas 
cover  large  tracts  of  the  ground.  Here  bloom  the  fragrant 
wild  flowers  just  as  of  yore.  All  these  have  for  these  many 
years  escaped  the  destroying  power  of  the  woodman’s  axe  and 
the  husbandman’s  plow.  Here,  in  boyish  glee,  have  I chased' 
the  pretty  butterfly;  here  I have  gathered  these  wild-flowers, 
and  here  listened  to  the  music  of  birds  whose  well-known 
voices  greet  my  ears  as  I write  these  lines. 

Hail,  ’gentle  robin,  brown  thrush,  grosbeak,  bullfinch, 
oriole,  taniger,  bluebird — -all  friends  of  my  boyhood  days!  I 
greet  you  with  all  the  warmth  and  fervor  of  a long  unbroken 
friendship.  Though  separated  from  you  many  long  years,  I 
have  never  forgotten,  never  ceased  to  love  you.  Nay,  gentle 
songsters,  start  not  at  sound  of  my  voice  or  sight  of  my  face, 
I would  not  for  the  world  harm  one  of  your  beautiful  feathers. 

Every  bend  and  every  straight  reach  in  this  old  road  I 
remember  as  though  I had  passsed  over  it  but  yesterday. 
Here  is  a level  piece  on  top  of  the  hill  where  in  summer  I 
seldom  passed  without  seeing  a partridge,  or  pheasant,  as  we 
called  them,  “wallowing”  in  the  dust.  Sometimes  there 
would  be  several  of  them,  and  if  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
summer  or  fall  the  mother  and  her  brood  were  often  seen. 
They  would  strut  along  the  road  in  front  of  me,  showing  but 
little  alarm,  for  they  were  seldom  hunted  in  those  days.  Now 
they  are  not  to  be  seen,  and  the  neighbors  tell  me  they  have 
all  been  killed  off  long  ago ; that  they  are  extinct  so  far  as 
this  locality  is  concerned. 

Here  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  is  a neighboring  farm  that  my 
father  rented  one  year.  I remember  that  in  the  fall,  when 
we  were  pasturing  some  young  horses  and  cattle  in  one  of  the 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


247 


fields,  I found  a nest  of  yellow-jackets  near  the  fence  at  one 
side  of  the  field.  I would  throw  clubs  at  the  nest  until  I got 
the  occupants  well  stirred  up,  and  then  go  and  drive  some  of 
the  colts  or  cattle  over  the  nest.  The  yellow-jackets  would 
of  course  get  their  work  in  lively,  and  then  it  was  fun  to  see 
those  animals  run.  I had  a little  dog  that  I didn’t  like  very 
well,  an  ugly,  mangy  cur.  I used  to  stir  up  the  yellow- 
jackets,  and  then  carry  this  dog  and  throw  him  over  the  fence 
into  the  nest.  He  would  make  a bee-line  for  a spring  about 
a hundred  yards  away,  jump  into  the  water  and  lie  there  until 
his  persecutors  had  left  him.  But  the  poor  animals  soon 
learned  to  shun  this  particular  fence  corner,  and  after  a day 
or  two  I couldn’t  get  any  of  them  near  it. 

I was  what  the  neighbors  called  a bad  boy — -not,  I must 
contend,  from  any  vicious  motives,  but  from  mere  reckless- 
ness, thoughtlessness  and  love  of  fun. 

In  my  rambles  through  the  woods  and  over  the  farm,  I al- 
ways carried  a bow  and  'arrow,  before  I got  large  enough  to 
be  trusted  with  a gun.  I acquired  considerable  skill  in  the 
use  of  the  former,  and  used  to  make  it  warm  for  the  squirrels, 
chipmunks,  woodpeckers,  etc.  I was  as  fond  of  fishing  then 
as  now,  and  in  order  to  procure  my  tackle  used  to  dig  gin- 
seng in  these  woods  and  sell  it.  It  usually  brought  thirty 
cents  a pound  green,  or  sixty  cents  dry.  I have  dug  and 
sold  many  a pound  of  it.  After  I commenced  shooting,  I 
used  to  buy  my  powder  and  shot  in  this  way. 

Emerging  at  last  from  the  woods,  I reach  the  site  of  our 
old  schoolhouse.  Alas !'  how  changed  is  the  scene  now ! 
The  schoolhouse— that  dear  old  log-cabin,  wherein  I have 
spent  so  many  happy  days — is  gone  ! Not  a vestige  of  it  re- 
mains— not  even  the  foundation-stones.  I seek  a history  of 
its  taking  off,  and  from  an  old  neighbor  I learn  that  the  logs 
of  which  it  was  built  decayed  and  fell  away,  until  it  was  no 


,{48 


IKSCELLANEOUS. 


longer  safe  to  occupy  it.  It  was  about  to  fall  down,  and  so 
the  school-directors  ordered  it  torn  down.  The  foundation- 
stones  were  hauled  away  and  used  in  the  new  schoolhouse, 
which  was  built  a mile  below.  The  fence,  which  inclosed 
my  father’s  field  near  the  schoolhouse,  has  been  extended  so 
xs  to  take  in  the  schoolhouse  lot,  and  it  has  been  broken  up 
and  farmed  for  several  years  past.  The  old  oak-trees  that 
shaded  our  playground  have  been  cut  down,  and  the  stumps 
are  decayed  and  gone.  I cannot  even  locate  definitely  the 
boundaries  of  our  old  ball-ground,  nor  can  I find  any  of  the 
old  landmarks  that  are  so  dear  to  my  memory.  Verily  the 
hand  of  time  has  fallen  heavily  on  this  sacred  spot.  I un- 
cover my  head  as  I gaze  upon  the  wreck  of  the  past,  and 
through  my  blinding  tears  the  familar  faces  of  teachers  and 
playmates  rise  up  before  me. 

Where  are  they  now  ? 

Some  of  them,  as  I fiave  said,  still  live  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ; but  others,  alas  ! are  scattered  to  the  four  corners  of 
the  earth. 

“ And  some  are  in  the  churchyard  laid !” 

And  what  a flood  of  tender  memories  comes  with  those 
faces  ! Here  I conned  almost  my  first  lessons  in  books.  Here  I 
received  many  wholesome  lessons,  many  good  impressions  that 
have  never  been  effaced  from  my  memory.  Here  were  scenes 
of  childish  glee  and  childish  sorrow ; childish  conquests  and 
childish  disappointments.  How  my  boyish  heart  used  to 
bound  with  delight,  as,  by  spelling  a hard  word  correctly,  I 
was  allowed  to  walk  proudly  to  the  head  of  my  class,  “ turn- 
ing down  ’ ’ a dozen  of  my  classmates  who  had  missed  the 
,ame  word  before  it  came  to  me.  And,  then,  how  I have 
bitten  my  lip  in  sorrow  and  shame,  as  I missed  an  easy  word, 
and  a rival  ha^taken  my  place  at  the  head. 

We  had  night  spelling-schools  in  those  days — not  those 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


249 


society  spelling-bees  that  were  the  rage  three  or  four  years 
ago  in  the  towns — but  genuine  old-fashioned  contests  in 
orthography. 

To  the  east  and  west  of  the  schoolhouse  are  steep  hills. 
Here  in  winter  time  we  used  to  coast  on  sleds  and  Norwegian 
snow-shoes.  We  would  go  spinning  down  these  hills,  through 
the  thick  woods,  at  a speed  that  makes  my  head  swim  now  to 
think  of  it.  It  is  strange  that  some  of  us  were  not  killed.  I 
remember  once  two  of  the  boys,  Harry  Barrett  and  Mark 
Ridenour,  were  sent  to  the  spring  at  the  foot  of  one  of  those 
hills  for  water.  They  each  took  a tin  pail,  both  mounted  one 
sled,  and  let  go.  Away  they  flew  with  the  speed  of  the  wind. 
When  half  way  down,  Mark  lost  his  hold,  and  fell  off,  rolling 
some  distance  in  the  hard-crusted  snow.  The  sled  struck  a 
tree  and  threw  Harry  past  a large  stump,  so  close  to  it  that 
one  side  of  his  face  was  scratched,  and  his  shoulder  badly 
bruised.  Had  his  head  struck  the  stump  fairly  it  would 
undoubtedly  have  killed  him.  His  water-pail  was  smashed 
flat  in  the  melee. 

I was  riding  down  one  of  these  hills  on  my  snow-shoes 
one  day,  and  when  I had  reached  a speed  of  about  nine  miles 
in  three  minutes,  one  of  my  shoes  struck  a grub,  and  went 
out  from  under  me.  I don’t  know  how  many  somersaults  I 
turned,  nor  how  much  of  the  distance  I slid  on  my  back,  on 
all-fours,  or  otherwise,  but  I didn’t  stop  until  I reached  the 
foot  of  the  hill.  I was  badly  cut  and  scratched  by  the  heavy 
crust  on  the  snow,  and  by  contact  with  the  brush,  etc.,  but 
fortunately  had  received  no  more  serious  injuries. 

We  played  “ town-ball  ” and  “bull-pen”  in  those  days. 
Town-ball  resembles  our  modern  base-ball  in  some  respects,  but 
was  much  more  severe,  as  in  order  to  put  a man  out  we  must 
hit  him  with  the  ball,  instead  of  crossing  him  out  or  hitting 
the  base  as  in  base-ball.  We  used  a hard  ball,  and  occasion- 


250 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


ally  one  of  us  would  get  knocked  down  when  it  happened  ,o 
come  in  hot  and  hit  us  on  the  head.  I have  frequently  w jrn 
black  spots  on  various  parts  of  my  body  for  two  or  tnree 
weeks  that  I got  in  this  way.  But  fear  of  getting  hit  devel- 
oped great  elasticity  in  our  joints,  and  we  became  very 
“ artful  dodgers.  ” 

We  frequently  had  someHerrific  snowball  combats  when 
the  snow  became  wet  and  heavy.  When  we  commenced 
snowballing  we  meant  business,  and  frequently  got  badly  hurt 
in  this  way,  too.  I remember  a remarkable  shot  I made  with 
a snowball  on  one  occasion.  We  had  chosen  sides,  taken 
our  ground,  and  deployed  as  skirmishers.  After  the  fight  had 
grown  warm,  I made  a ball  very  hard,  and  thiew  it  at  one  of 
the  other  boys.  He  was  just  making  a large  one,  and  was 
packing  it  very  hard.  He  had  it  about  completed  when  mine 
arrived,  struck  his  squarely,  as  he  was  pressing  it  between  his 
hands,  and  knocked  it  all  into  “pi.” 

Such  were  some  of  our  boyish  sports.  We  never  stopped 
to  think  of  the  danger  we  incurred,  but  only  went  in  for  fun, 
and  we  usually  had  it. 

From  the  schoolhouse  site,  I stroll  across  the  old  field 
adjoining,  and  which  in  fact  now  includes  it.  Even  here  I 
stop  and  ponder.  I have  plowed  and  hoed  the  corn,  raked 
and  bound  the  golden  wheat  and  oats  here,  when  there  were 
perhaps  fifty  large  stumps  on  each  acre  of  the  ground.  Now 
there  is  not  one.  They,  like  many  other  of  the  old  land- 
marks, have  succumbed  to  the  inevitable  — they  have  decayed 
and  disappeared,  and  the  field  now  looks  like  a natural 
prairie.  But  here,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  field,  are  at 
last  some  objects  that  are  just  as  they  were  when  I last  saw 
them.  They  are  those  great  ledges  of  solid  limestone,  that 
crop  out  of  the  hillsides  and  tower  perpendicularly  to  heights 
of  twenty,  thirty,  and  even  fifty  feet.  No,  they  have  not 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


251 


changed.  True,  they  look  not  so  large  nor  so  high  now  as 
they  appeared  to  my  boyish  vision,  but  that  is  because  I have 
seen  more  of  the  world  than  I had  then,  not  because  they 
have  grown  less.  They  have  withstood  the  storms  of  time, 
and  will  for  ages  yet  to  come  without  any  material  change. 


CHAPTER  XXVII, 


THE  DAYS  OF  LONG  AGO. 

MY  DOG  AND  I — RING  AND  THE  HOGS  — WOODCHUCK  HUNTING  — OLD 
RING!  “THOUGH  LOST  TO  SIGHT  TO  MEMORY  DEAR” — ALL  IS 
CHANGED  — OLD  MEMORIES  CROWD  UPON  ME  — THE  OLD  LANDMARKS 
GONE!  — THE  OLD  SPRING  — THERE  IS  A TIME  FOR  TEARS. 

These  rocks  and  hills  used  to  be  a great  resort  for  the 
ground  hog  (. Arctomys  monax),  or  “ woodchuck,”  as  we  then 
called  it.  I have  killed  large  numbers  of  them  here.  I had 
a dog  that  was  as  fond  of  hunting  as  I was.  He  would 
“tree”  them,  and  I always  went  to  him  when  I heard  him 
bark,  regardless  of  distance,  state  of  the  weather,  or  any  other 
obstacle.  They  generally  took  shelter  in  the  crevices  and 
fissures  of  these  rocks,  or  in  hollow  trees  or  logs.  My  favorite 
method  of  capturing  them  was  to  take  a piece  of  stiong  cord, 
and  form  a loop  on  the  end  of  a pole.  Then  running  this 
pole  into  the  hole  where  the  animal  was,  I would  punch  him 
with  it  until  he  got  mad,  and  began  to  bite  at  it.  When  I 
got  a “ bite”  I would  pull  just  as  in  fishing,  and  very  soon 
would  succeed  in  catching  the  loop  of  string  around  his  front 
upper  teeth,  when  I had  only  to  haul  away  until  I landed  him 
at  my  feet,  where  my  dog  always  stood  ready  to  clinch  him. 
Ring  was  a small,  light-built  dog,  about  one-fourth  bull,  and 
the  balance — just  dog.  He  didn’t  weigh  over  twenty  pounds, 
but  was  a wonderful  specimen  of  pluck.  So  is  an  old  male 
ground-hog.  We  used  to  have  some  wonderful  fights.  We 
frequently  caught  ground-hogs  as  heavy  as  Ring  was,  and  I 
I have  often  seen  a fight  last  half-an-hour  before  the  ground 
hog  would  succumb  to  the  chewing  and  shaking  that  the  little 

252 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


253 


mongrel  gave  him.  Sometimes  the  ground-hog  would  get  the 
dog  by  the  lip,  the  cheek,  the  ear,  or  jaw,  and  hang  there 
until  nearly  every  bone  in  his  body  was  chewed  up  before  he 
would  let  go.  Sometimes  the  dog  would  be  on  top  and 
sometimes  the  ground-hog,  and  when  the  fight  was  over  the 
ground  for  a space  a rod  square  would  be  strewn  with  blood 
and  hair.  It  was  rough  on  both  the  animals,  but  fun  for  the 
boys,  besides,  I knew  it  would  be  the  “ making  of  the  pup,” 
so  I always  let  them  fight  it  out  to  the  death.  The  boys  used 
to  gather  in  from  the  whole  neighborhood  on  Sunda  to  go 
out  and  have  a woodchuck  hunt. 

Here,  as  I look  around,  I can  find  several  of  the  fissures  in 
the  rocks  from  which  I have  pulled  my  victims,  and  I fancy 
I can  almost  see  traces  on  the  ground  yet  of  some  of  these 
fights.  Just  here  by  this  ravine  used  to  lie  a large  hollow  log, 
from  which  I have  dragged  several  of  them  at  different  times; 
but  it  has  rotted  down,  and  it  is  only  by  the  closest  scrutiny 
that  I can  find  traces  of  the  bed  of  old  decayed  wood,  where 
it  once  rested. 

And  poor  old  Ring  ! Dear,  faithful  old  companion  of 
my  boyhood  — where  art  thou  now?  Oh,  thou  hast  passed 
away  long  years  ago,  and  I trust,  to  the  happy  hunting 
ground.  Couldst  thou  see  the  bitter  tears  that  course  down 
my  cheeks  as  I write  these  lines,  thou  wouldst  know  that  thou 
art  still 

“ Though  lost  to  sight, 

To  memory  dear.” 

And  now  I come  at  last  to  the  old  house,  the  old  home- 
stead, 

“ The  little  old  log  cabin  by  the  lane.” 

But  alas  ! how  changed  it  and  all  its  surroundings  ! True, 
the  house  itself  still  stands,  but  it  looks  not  as  it  did  when 
last  I saw  it.  The  logs  are  far  gone  with  decay,  and  it,  too, 


254 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


must  soon  yield  to  the  ravages  of  time.  The  old  barn  is 
gone,  the  granary  is  gone,  the  shop  is  gone,  the  spring-house 
is  no  more,  and  I learn  on  inquiry  they  all  rotted  down  long 
ago.  But  the  spring,  that  clear,  bubbling  fountain,  is  still 
there.  It  looks  just  as  it  did,  I lift  a cup  of  its  pure  liquid 
to  my  lips,  and  it  is  as  cooling,  as  refreshing,  as  welcome  to 
my  taste  as  of  yore.  Never  did  the  oldest  Maraschino,  or 
the  rarest  Cognac  taste  half  so  good  as  does  this  sparkling 
fluid. 

I approach  the  house,  and  am  met  at  the  door  by  a strange 
lady.  I announce  myself.  She  receives  me  politely ; says 
she  has  heard  my  name,  has  heard  her  grandmother  speak  of 
my  mother,  but  she  herself  was  but  a child  when  we  left  the 
country,  and  never  saw  any  of  us.  The  interior  of  the  house 
shows  as  great  a change  as  the  exterior.  True,  it  is  neat  and 
clean— the  mistress  is  a tidy  housekeeper — but  the  windows 
and  doors  have  been  changed,  and,  worst  of  all,  the  old  fire- 
place, the  dearest  relic  of  all,  is  no  more.  It  has  been  bricked 
up,  and  near  its  place  stands  a modern  heating-stove. 

What  a train  of  memories  cluster  around  that  dear  old  fire- 
place ! Here,  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  we  gathered 
around  it,  and  by  its  cheerful  light  and  genial  warmth, 
conned  our  lessons  for  the  morrow,  or  perused  an  interesting 
book,  or  the  weekly  newspaper.  Here  I first  read  Irving’s 
“ Life  of  Washington,”  the  “ History  of  the  American  Revo- 
lution,” the  “Life  of  Daniel  Boone,”  and  many  other  works 
that  made  deep  and  lasting  impressions  on  my  mind,  and 
whose  teachings  I shall  never  forget.  Here,  when  some  of 
the  neighbors  came  in  to  spend  the  evening,  we  used  to  sit  and 
crack  nuts,  and  listen  to  great  hunting  yarns  and  Indian 
stories,  which  my  father  and  some  of  our  neighbors  were  fond 
of  spinning.  I have  sat  and  listened  to  these  harrowing 
tales  until  my  hair  would  stand  on  end,  and  then  it  invariably 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


255 


happened  that  my  mother  would  want  a pail  oi  water  from 
the  spring,  or  an  arm-load  of  wood.  I was  always  ordered 
to  bring  it,  and,  of  course,  being  ashamed  to  confess  that  I 
was  “afraid,”  would  go  without  a word  of  objection.  Al- 
though the  spring  and  wood-pile  were  not  more  than  three 
rods  from  the  door,  I always  imagined,  especially  if  the  night 
was  very  dark,  that  one  of  the  bears,  panthers,  wolves  or 
painted  savages,  of  which  I had  been  hearing  so  much,  was 
at  my  heels  ready  to  spring  upon  me ; and  you  may  rest  as- 
sured that  I didn’t  loiter  much  by  the  wayside.  I only  made 
about  three  steps  in  going  to  and  returning  from  the  spring. 
My  mother  used  to  compliment  me  on  making  the  trip  so 
quickly,  but  she  never  knew  why  I did  it. 

I look  about  the  grounds.  Here  is  where  the  old  granary 
stood.  I remember  the  woodpeckers  used  to  come  here  in 
large  numbers  during  the  winter  season  to  help  themselves  to 
the  corn.  I used  to  bait  a fish-hook  with  a grain  of  corn, 
hang  it  near  the  granary,  and  catch  a woodpecker  as  we  do 
a fish.  I should  consider  this  cruel  sport  now-,  but  didn’t 
know  any  better  in  those  days,  until  my  mother  caught  me  at 
it,  told  me  it  was  wrong,  and  forbade  me  to  do  it  any 
more.  I afterward  learned  to  shoot  them  with  the  old  family 
rifle,  which  measured  “six  feet  in  the  barrel.”  I shot  it 
several  years  before  I was  tall  enough  to  load  it,  arid  always 
had  to  get  an  older  brother  or  my  father  to  load  it  for  me. 

Here,  in  the  yard,  just  above  the  house  — I can  locate 
the  spot  within  a foot  — is  where  I once  dug  a “den”  for 
a young  pet  “woodchuck,”  and  turned  a box  over  him  to 
keep  him  safe.  But  he  dug  out  the  first  night,  and  I never 
saw  him  again,  unless  Ring  and  I killed  him  after  he  grew 
up,  and  then  I didn’t  recognize  him. 

And  here  on  the  hillside,  about  two  hundred  yards  from 
the  house,  in  a thicket  of  brush,  is  where  I once  killed  eleven 


256 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


quails  at  one  shot,  with  a neighbor’s  old  single-barreled  shot 
gun.  It  was  in  the  winter.  I tracked  them  some  distance 
on  the  snow,  and  just  at  dusk  found  them  huddled  in  a bunch 
under  an  old  log  that  laid  up  some  distance  from  the  ground. 
They  were  bunched  so  closely  that  I could  have  covered 
them  with  my  hat,  and  a good  aim  at  about  twenty  yards  left 
but  a small  chance  for  the  poor  little  fellows.  Only  two  of 
them  escaped.  I should  blush  to  do  so  mean  a thing  now,' 
but  it  was  different  then.  I knew  no  better.  I had  not  then 
been  educated  in  the  ethics  of  the  field,  and  thought  I had 
made  a wonderful  shot.  I boasted  of  it  for  weeks  and 
months  afterward.  I presume  that  many  of  my  brother 
sportsmen  of  to-day  have  made  such  shots  when  they  were 
boys.  Probably  they  would  not  like  to  confess  it  now,  but  I 
don’t  know  that  I feel  ashamed  of  it.  I mention  it  to  show 
the  advancement  that  we  have  made  through  the  influence  of 
the  wholesome  teaching  that  we  get  from  such  sources  as  the 
American  Field.  There  are  hundreds  of  young  clodhoppers 
to-day,  such  as  I was  then,  that  do  such  potting  every  chance 
they  get,  and  don’t  know  there  is  any  harm  in  it.  But  I 
have  digressed  from  my  subject. 

Here,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hill  is  where  the  old 
sugar  camp  used  to  be  ; but  all  those  old  maples  from  which 
used  to  flow  such  generous  quantities  of  the  rich  saccharine 
fluid,  have  long  ago  been  cut  down,  and  the  land  whereon 
they  stood  is  now  a green  field.  I look  in  vain  for  a trace  of 
the  old  furnace,  and  the  cabin  that  stood  in  front  of  it,  but 
not  a vestige  of  either  remain.  But  I see  a plowman  not  far 
away;  I will  ask  him.  Yes,  he  points  out  a small  pile  of 
stones  near  the  middle  of  the  field,  which  he  says  marks  the 
place  where  the  furnace  stood. 

“We  tore  it  down  when  we  cleared  this  piece,”  he  said. 

I approached  the  spot  he  indicated,  and  found  , a few 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


257 


stones  that  once  formed  part  of  the  old  furnace.  I stood 
over  them  and  ruminated.  I had  spent  many  happy  hours 
on  that  spot.  We  used  to  gather  in  several  barrels  of  sap 
during  the  day,  boil  it  down,  and  frequently  as  the  evening 
approached  on  which  we  were  to  “sugar  off,”  we  invited  the 
boys  and  girls  of  the  neighborhood  to  come  in  and  join  us  in 
a candy-pulling.  Those  were  jolly  parties  that  assembled  on 
such  occasions,  and  we  used  to  make  the  old  woods  ring 
with  our  mirth  and  song.  Oh,  what  a delicious  bon  bon  is  a 
dish  of  warm  maple  wax,  pure  and  fresh  from  the  woods  ! I 
can  tasre  it  now,  in  imagination.  Reader,  if  you  have  never 
tried  it  in  this  way,  if  you  have  never  stood  around  the  large, 
cheerful  furnace  and  lifted  the  bubbling  mass  from  the  kettle 
onto  your  plate  of  snow  or  ice,  if  your  knowledge  of  maple 
sugar  is  confined  to  to  the  adulterated  stuff  you  buy  of  the 
grocer,  and  that  which  is  dished  up  at  church  festivals,  you 
can  have  no  conception  of  the  sweet  recollections  that  crowd 
through  my  brain,  as  I stand  over  this  sacred  pile. 

“ How  dear  to  my  heart  are  the  sweets  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view.” 

I remember  once  we  had  collected  several  barrels  of  sap 
during  the  day,  and  I told  my  father  and  older  brothers  that 
I would  come  back  that  night  after  supper  and  boil  it  down. 
They  said  it  was  not  necessary,  that  we  could  easily  boil  it 
down  the  next  morning  before  we  should  need  the  barrels ; 
but  I insisted,  so  they  told  me  to  do  as  I liked.  After  supper 
I took  a newspaper  and  went  to  the  camp.  I put  in  a boom- 
ing fire,  filled  up  the  kettles,  and  sat  down  in  the  cabin  to 
read  by  the  light  of  the  fire.  Almost  the  first  lines  I read 
were  an  account  of  a man  in  an  adjoining  county  having 
killed  a large  catamount  that  measured  seven  feet  from  tip  to 
tip.  I dropped  the  paper  and  began  to  peer  out  into  the 


258 


miscellaneous. 


darkness.  I fancied  I could  see  a pair  of  large  fiery  eyes 
glaring  upon  me,  and  hear  the  dry  leaves  rustle,  as  a 
monster  catamount,  probably  the  mate  to  the  one  that  had 
just  been  killed,  crawled  stealthily  toward  me.  I thought  of 
all  the  harrowing  stories  I had  heard  and  read,  of  terrible  en- 
counters with  these  monsters ; how  people  had  been  eaten  up 
by  them,  and  only  a boot  or  a hat  had  been  left  to  tell  their 
fate.  I sprang  to  the  furnace,  pulled  all  the  fire  out,  threw  the 
burning  brands  into  a hole  near  by,  and  lit  out  for  home  at  a 
rate  that  would  make  Maud  S.  envious.  Every  few  seconds 
I looked  back  over  my  shoulder  to  see  if  the  catamount  was 
coming,  and  imagined  that  I was  only  saving  my  life  by  run- 
ning faster  than  he  could.  When  I arrived  at  the  house  I 
stopped  outside  the  door  until  I had  recovered  my  breath 
and  cooled  off.  When  I went  in  the  folks  inquired  why  I had 
come  home  so  early;  why  I didn’t  stay  and  boil  down  the 
sap,  as  I had  set  out  to  do. 

“Well,”  I said,  “it  was  kind  of  lonesome  out  there  all 
alone,  and  I concluded  to  leave  it  till  morning.”  My  good 
mother  said  she  thought  that  was  a wise  conclusion,  and  this 
is  the  first  time  I ever  confessed  the  true  cause  of  my  going 
home  so  early  that  night. 

I return  to  the  house,  and  again  slake  my  thirst  at  the 
cool  spring.  Just  below  the  spring  stood  the  old  milk-house, 
through  which  flowed  the  cool  water  from  the  spring.  What 
delicious  cool  milk,  and  hard,  yellow  butter  used  to  stand  in 
this  cool  retreat.  I remember  once  I caught  a neighbor’s  dog 
in  the  milk-house.  He  had  pulled  the  pin  out  of  the  door- 
post, and  opened  the  door  with  his  paw.  I discovered  him 
just  as  he  entered,  before  he  had  time  to  do  any  damage ; but 
he  had  gone  there  with  mischievous  intent.  Besides,  I had  a 
grudge  against  him,  for  once  when  I had  gone  to  his  master’s 
house  he  had  bitten  me.  Now  I had  him  where  I wanted 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


259 


him,  and  I resolved  to  get  even  with  him  before  I let  him 
out.  I stepped  to  the  clump  of  water-hazels  that  stood  a few 
feet  away,  and  cut  two  large,  heavy  branches,  about  five  or  six 
feet  long.  I trimmed  them  up,  returned  to  the  milk-house, 
and  went  to  work  on  that  dog,  and  whipped  him  until  my 
vengeance  was  thoroughly  appeased.  I then  released  him  and 
sent  him  home,  a wiser  and  a better  dog. 

On  the  hillside,  a short  distance  from  the  house,  i find  the 
remains  of  an  old  oak  stump,  in  which  I once  bored  a hole 
and  put  a large  charge  of  powder.  It  was  on  the  morning  of 
the  Fourth  of  July,  and  when  I “touched  it  off”  at  daylight 
the  report  woke  all  the  neighbors  within  a radius  of  three 
miles. 

In  the  piece  of  woods  just  south  of  the  house  I once 
pushed  down  a tall  stump  or  trunk  of  a decayed  tree,  in 
which  was  a flying-squirrel’s  nest.  The  mother  flew  to  a tree 
near  by  as  the  stump  fell,  and  so  escaped,  but  the  young  ones, 
although  nearly  full-grown,  were  not  strong  enough  to  fly.  I 
caught  up  one  of  them,  but  no  sooner  had  I done  so  than  it 
caught  my  thumb  just  near  the  root  of  the  nail,  and  inserted 
its  sharp,  cutting  front  teeth  to  the  bone,  above  and  below. 
I had  to  choke  him  off  with  the  other  hand,  and  after  that  I 
gave  flying-squirrels  a wide  berth.  On  another  occasion, 
however,  I caught  a live  ground-squirrel,  and  he  bit  a finger 
nearly  off  before  I succeeded  in  choking  him  to  death. 

On  a farm  adjoining  ours  there  stood  an  old  deserted  log 
cabin.  I was  roaming  around.it  one  day  to  see  what  I could 
find,  when,  looking  through  a large  crack  in  the  floor,  I saw 
a ground-hog  busily  engaged  in  burrowing  in  the  ground.  I 
went  out  to  the  fence,  got  a large  sliver  off  a rail  and  stabbed 
him  with  it  so  vigorously  that  I succeeded  in  killing  him 
before  he  could  get  out  of  my  reach. 

I continued  my  rambles  through  the  neighborhood,  visiting 


260 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


old  friends,  schoolmates  and  acquaintances,  until  two  days 
passed  rapidly  away.  Then  I returned  to  the  station  to  take 
the  train  for  home  — my  present  home.  But  as  I pass  by  the 
old  farm,  I pause  once  more  to  take  a last  fond  look  at  those 
scenes  so  dear  to  me.  Ah!  when  shall  I see  them  again? 
Perhaps  never.  Then  farewell,  dear,  dear  old  home,  fare- 
well ! Thou  art  no  longer  my  home ; I am  a stranger  here 
now,  an  intruder.  There  is  no  welcome  for  me.  Tears  dim 
my  eyes  as  I gaze  o’er  the  green  fields,  and  in  my  heart,  old 
home,  thy  memory  shall  ever  be  kept  as  green  as  are  thy  hills 
and  valleys  now. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

TROUTING  ON  THE  NAMECAGON 

MR.  T.  S.  POWERS  A TYPICAL  SPORTSMAN — THE  VILLAGE  OF  CABLE — - 

OUT  IN  THE  STREAM — MULTITUDES  OF  TROUT — MOSQUITO  CREEK. 

He  greedily  sucks  in  the  twining  bait, 

And  tugs  and  nibbles  the  fallacious  meat. 

Now,  happy  fisherman,  now  twitch  the  line! 

How  the  rod  bends ! Behold  the  prize  is  thine  ! 

I was  a passenger  on  a north-bound  train  on  the  North 
Wisconsin  railroad  one  day  near  the  last  of  May,  and  as  the 
train  stopped  at  a small  station  away  up  in  the  great  pine 
woods,  I saw  half-a-dozen  sportsmen,  equipped  with  fishing 
tackle  and  camping  outfit,  enter  the  smoking-car.  I scanned 
their  sun-browned  countenances  to  see  if  I might  recognize 
any  of  them,  for  I feel  an  instinctive  affinity  for  any  man 
whom  I see  with  a fishing-rod'  or  gun  in  his  hand.  I was 
rewarded  and  delighted  to  see  in  the  front  rank  of  the  party 
the  genial  face  of  that  typical  sportsman  and  prince  of  good 
fellows,  Mr.  T.  S.  Powers,  of  Tomah,  Wis.  He  introduced 
me  to  his  friends,  Messrs.  M.  A.  Thayer  and  his  son  Charlie, 
D.  D.  Cheeney,  Henry  Foster  and  Mr.  Guell,  all  of  Sparta; 
R.  P.  Hitchcock,  of  Tomah,  and  Leroy  Wheaton,  of  Hutch- 
inson. All  hands  gave  me  a pressing  invitation  to  join  them, 
and  as~I  was  on  the  same  errand  as  they  were,  I was  only  too 
glad  to  do  so. 

Our  destination  was  the  Namecagon  river,  one  of  the 
tributaries  of  the  St.  Croix.  The  railroad  crosses  the  Name- 
cagon three  times,  and  as  we  looked  at  its  clear  swift  waters 
and  foaming  rapids  from  the  car  windows,  we  felt  assured  of 

261 


262 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


glorious  sport  on  the  morrow.  We  arrived  at  the  village  of 
Cable,  in  Bayfield  county,  Wis.,  at  eight  o’clock.  After 
supper  we  gathered  in  the  sitting-room  of  the  hotel  and  were 
entertained  for  an  hour  by  “Doctor”  Weir,  one  of  the 
bright  lights  of  the  town,  with  some  interesting  fish  stories. 

He  informed  us  that  we  were  sure  to  have  magnificent 
sport.  He  said  the  Namecagon  was  literally  full  of  trout, 
and  that  many  of  them  were  of  immense  size.  He  said  we 
were  not  likely  to  catch  one  of  less  than  half  a pound  weight 
and  that  two  and  three  pounders  were  common  ; that  several 
parties  had  been  out  lately  and  each  man  had  caught  on  an 
average  a hundred  pounds  of  trout  per  day;  that  if  these 
trout  were  too  large,  and  if  we  preferred  smaller  ones,  there 
were  plenty  of  small  brooks  in  the  vicinity,  tributaries  of  the 
river,  where  we  could  catch  an  average  of  three  hundred  per 
day  to  the  man  that  would  only  weigh  from  a quarter  to 
half  a pound  each. 

He  said  the  lakes  in  the  neighborhood  were  also  alive 
with  fish  of  various  kinds.  That  at  Long  lake,  two  miles 
north,  we  would  catch  bass  weighing  from  four  to  eight 
pounds  as  a steady  thing  ; that  a day’s  string  would  average 
six  pounds;  that  we  would  catch  pickerel  weighing  twenty  to 
thirty  pounds  each  ; of  course  we  would,  for  other  people 
were  doing  so  every  day.  One  of  the  boys  ventured  to 
remark  that  he  thought  the  Doctor  was  giving  us  taffy.  But 
the  Doctor  affirmed  on  his  professional  honor  that  every  word 
was  true  as  gospel. 

“ Why,”  said  he,  “we  have  eaten  fresh  fish  here  until  we 
are  all  tired  of  them ; occasionally  one  of  the  boarders  con- 
cludes that  he  would  like  a mess  of  fish.  He  goes  out  to  the 
lake,  and  in  an  hour  returns  with  a coffee  sack  full  of  black 
bass,  but  on  his  arrival  finds  that  about  fifteen  or  sixteen  of 
the  other  boarders  have  been  out  fishing  just  for  fun  and  each 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


263 


one  has  brought  in  a coffee  sack  full.  Then  they  all  feel  dis- 
couraged and  the  fish  are  dumped  into  the  alley.” 

“Why,”  continued  our  orator,  “one  day  last  winter  a 
man  drove  down  to  one  of  our  small  lakes  to  water  his  horse. 
He  cut  a hole  in  the  ice,  but  the  bullheads  came  up  so  fast 
that  his  horses  couldn’t  drink,  so  he  took  a wooden  pail  and 
went  to  bailing  them  out.  He  worked  away  until  he  dipped 
out  four  barrels,  and  still  they  were  just  as  thick  in  the  hole  as 
when  he  commenced,  so  he  got  discouraged  and  drove  away. 
Oh,  you  needn’t  wink.  It’s  a fact,  for  I went  down  and  saw 
the  pile  of  bullheads  on  the  ice  myself.  Occasionally  the 
mill  boarding-house,  down  on  Clear  lake,  wants  a mess  of 
fish  for  breakfast.  Well,  they  just  send  a man  down  to  the 
lake  with  a team.  He  takes  out  the  tail-gate  and  backs  his 
wagon  into  the  lake  till  the  box  is  full  of  bass,  then  puts  in 
the  tail-gate  again  and  drives  up  to  the  house.  It’s  a fact. 
They’re  so  thick  in  the  lake  they  can’t  get  out  of  the  way, 
and  you  dip  them  up  whenever  you  dip  up  water.” 

At  this  stage  of  the  game  somebody  moved  to  adjourn, 
and  we  all  went  to  bed.  The  next  morning  John  O’Brien 
loaded  our  traps  into  his  wagon,  took  us  out  to  the  Name- 
cagon  river,  two  miles  from  town,  and  we  made  our  camp  on 
a high  bank  overlooking  a bend  in  the  river.  It  was  near 
noon  when  the  majority  of  the  party  got  the  camp  established 
and  ready  for  business.  Mr.  Thayer  and  his  son,  Mr. 
Cheeney  and  myself,  went  up  the  river  about  two  miles  above 
camp,  Mr.  Foster  and  Mr.  Hitchcock  about  a mile  above, 
and  Mr.  Powers  went  below. 

The  stream  at  this  point  is  .-from  thirty  to  fifty  yards  wide 
and  from  one  to  three  feet  deep  in  general,  though  there  are 
many  deep  holes  in  it.  I speak  of  it  as  in  the  spring  stage  of 
water.  In  midsummer  it  is  considerably  lower.  It  is  very 
swift,  and  there  are  rapids  that  will  tax  all  your  strength  and 


264 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


nerve  to  wade  them  down  stream  at  this  stage.  To  wade 
them  up  stream  is  impossible.  And  in  wading  down,  if  you 
loose  your  footing  you  will  go  to  the  foot  of  the  rapids  ere 
you  can  possibly  regain  it. 

We  who  were  disposed  to  wade  went  at  once  into  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  the  others  fished  from  the  bank.  The 
former  is  much  the  pleasanter  method  of  fishing  this  stream. 
We  waded  out  until  clear  of  all  brush,  and  here  we  could 
whip  and  cast  to  our  hearts’  content-  After  fishing  one  riffle, 
eddy  or  rapid  until  we  felt  that  we  had  all  we  could  get  out 
of  it,  we  would  pass  on  to  the  next. 

Occasionally  you  see  a large  rock  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream  around  which  the  raging  torrent  foams  and  surges. 
Just  below  it  is  a deep  hole,  where  you  feel  sure  there  is  a 
large,  wary  old  trout  lying  in  weight  for  his  prey.  You  feel 
that  it  will  not  do  to  approach  too  near  him,  for  he  will  take 
fright  and  bid  you  a hasty  good-bye.  So  you  stop,  perhaps 
fifty  feet  above  him,  drop  your  fly  on  the  water,  reel  out  and 
let  the  current  take  it  down  until  it  passes  through  the  foam- 
ing crest,  past  the'  breaker,  and  just  as  it  enters  the  eddy 
there  is  a sudden  commotion  in  the  angry  flood,  a flash  of 
light,  a show  of  crimson  and  gold,  a tug  at  the  line,  a sudden 
stroke  of  the  rod,  and  he  is  fast ! He  dives  under  the  rock, 
but  quick  as  thought  you  swing  him  out  away  from  that 
danger.  Then  he  makes  a rush  for  a clump  of  driftwood 
near  the  bank.  As  you  give  him  the  butt  of  the  rod,  and 
check  his  mad  career,  he  makes  a beautiful  break,  and  shows 
you  his  rich  colors  glistening  in  the  bright  sunlight. 

Your  heart  throbs  with  delight  as  you  see  his  size  and  feel 
his  weight  upon  the  line.  But  you  keep  perfectly  cool; 
checking  him  at  every  turn,  and  reeling  in  whenever  he  gives 
you  a foot  of  line,  until  after  a hard  fight  he  succumbs  to  his 
iate,  and  you  gently  lift  him  into  your  basket.  He  is  one  of 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


265 


those  fine,  dark  specimens  that  are  only  found  in  the  larger 
streams  and  lakes,  and  his  rounded  sides  show  that  he  has 
been  well  fed. 

You  pass  on  down  to  where  you  see  a large  body  of  drift- 
wood, near  the  right  bank,  and  from  the  quiet  repose  which 
the  water  bears  there  you  know  it  is  deep  under  that  drift. 
You  stop  fifty  to  a hundred  feet  above  it,  and  repeat  the 
tactics  described  above.  As  regularly  as  the  fly  reaches 
within  a few  feet  of  the  drift  you  get  a rise,  until  you  take 
out  perhaps  half-a-dozen  fine  fellows,  when  the  others,  if 
there  are  others  there,  begin  to  “smell  a mice,”  and  you 
pass  on. 

Thus  the  time  passed  with  us,  and  thus  the  sport  was 
varied,  until  we  had  covered  over  two  miles  and  arrived  at 
camp  at  five  o’clock  in  the  evening,  hungry  enough  to  eat  the 
largest  trout  in  the  river.  On  counting  up  our  strings  we 
found  that  they  ran  from  fourteen  to  twenty-five  to  each  man, 
aggregating  one  hundred  and  sixty.  The  smallest  one  in  the 
lot  weighed  a quarter  of  a pound  and  the  largest  a pound, 
the  aggregate  weight  being  over  fifty  pounds. 

That  night  a-  heavy  rain  came  on  and  raised  the  stream 
nearly  a foot,  so  that  our  sport  was  not  so  good  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  though  we  succeeded  in  taking  ninety-three. 
The  rain  continued  at  intervals  during  the  day,  and  as  the 
river  was  likely  to  remain  swollen  for  several  days,  we  decided 
to  remove  over  to  Long  lake  and  take  a turn  at  the  bass.  The 
Namecagon  river  is  certainly  one  of  the  finest  trout  streams 
in  the  Northwest.  We  saw  and  heard  enough  to  convince  us 
that  there  are  no  small  trout  in  it.  The  large  ones  drive  the 
small  ones  out  into  the  small  streams.  In  our  two  days’  fish- 
ing we  did  not  catch  a single  fingerling  — nothing  that  would 
weigh  less  than  a quarter  of  a pound,  and  we  heard  similar 
reports  from  several  other  parties  who  were  fishing  at  the 


266 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


same  time  we  were,  and  had  fished  it  before.  Then  it  bears 
a great  many  very  large  ones.  We  caught  several  weighing 
from  twelve  ounces  to  a pound,  and  some  of  the  other  parties 
caught  trout  while  we  were  there  weighing  over  a pound. 

The  stream  heads  in  Namecagon  lake,  eight  miles  east  of 
the  village  of  Cable.  This  lake  no  doubt  bears  some  very 
large  trout,  though  I failed  to  learn  that  any  have  ever  been 
taken  out  of  it.  The  stream  can  be  fished  either  from  the 
banks,  by  boat,  or  by  wading,  from  this  lake  down  to  the 
mouth  of  Musquito  creek,  a distance  of  perhaps  fifty  miles, 
and  they  told  us  that  the  fishing  is  as  good  the  entire  distance 
as  it  was  where  we  fished.  As  already  stated,  it  is  broad, 
shallow  and  swift  — being  from  thirty  to  fifty  yards  wide  — 
and  there  is  no  brush  to  bother  any  one  who  wades  or  fishes 
from  a boat.  To  launch  a boat  or  canoe  in  the  lake  and  then 
fish  down  to  Mosquito  creek,  or  to  one  of  the  several  railroad 
crossings  where  you  could  board  the  train,  would  make  a 
delightful  voyage  and  furnish  fine  sport. 

These  trout  take  almost  any  kind  of  a fly  or  bait  eagerly. 
Live  minnows,  would  be  the  most  killing  bait  for  the  larger 
trout.  I had  excellent  sport  with  an  artificial  minnow.  We 
also  caught  several  fine  ones  with  live  frogs. 

To  reach  this  stream  you  should  take  the  St.  Paul  train  on 
the  Northwestern  road  to  Hudson,  and  from  there  go  north 
on  the  North  Wisconsin  division  of  the  Chicago,  St.  Paul, 
Minneapolis  & Omaha  railroad  to  Cable.  Teams,  boats  and 
guides  can  be  had  at  that  point  at  reasonable  rates. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


PIKE  AND  BASS  FISHING  ON  LONG  LAKE. 

AN  AFTERNOON’S  CATCH,  l8o  POUNDS  OFFISH!  — LEROY  AND  THE  POL- 
LYWOGS  TOP  THE  NARROWS  — HUNTING  A LOON  — “YOU’VE  GOT  A 
WHALE,  SURE” — AN  ENORMOUS  PICKEREL  — THREE  DAYS’  CATCH, 
620  POUNDS  — HOME  AGAIN. 

We  landed  at  the  foot  of  Long  lake  about  noon,  made 
camp,  and  prepared  for  business.  We  launched  the  boat  we 
took  with  us,  and  procured  two  others  that  we  found  on  the 
lake.  The  majority  of  the  party  disposed  themselves  in  the 
boats  for  trolling,  the  others  still-fished -from  logs  and  fallen 
trees  along  the  shore.  I employed  John  Moulton,  a young 
man  who  lives  on  the  bank  of  the  lake,  to  row  for  me,  and 
Mr.  Powers  and  myself  started  for  the  Narrows,  a point 
where  the  best  fishing  is  said  to  be. 

But  we  didn’t  have  to  wait  to  reach  the  Narrows  to  find 
good  sport.  We  had  gone  but  a few  strokes  from  camp  when 
the  trouble  began.  Our  oarsman  kept  near  the  shore,  and 
from  almost  every  submerged  log  or  tree  top,  of  which  there 
are  a great  many  all  along  the  shores,  there  came  a bass  that 
went  for  one  or  the  other  of  our  spoons,  and  there  was  but 
little  time  during  the  afternoon  that  one  of  us  was  not  en- 
gaged in  reeling  in  a fish.  The  bass  were  of  the  small 
mouthed  variety,  Micropterus  salmoides.  They  are  very 
vigorous  in  this  high  northern  latitude,  and  furnish  magnifi- 
cent sport.  As  we  passed  an  island  about  three  miles  from 
camp,  Mr.  Powers  hooked  a pike  that  weighed  ten  and  three- 
quarters  pounds,  and  as  we  returned  later  in  the  evening,  he 
took  another  from  the  same  hole,  weighing  eleven  and  one- 

207 


268 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


quarter  pounds.  We  returned  to  camp  at  six  o’clock,  having 
had  all  the  sport  we  wanted  for  one  day.  Our  friends  in  the 
other  two  boats,  and  those  who  were  fishing  from  the  shore, 
all  brought  in  fine  strings  of  bass.  The  afternoon’s  catch 
weighed  in  the  aggregate  180  pounds. 

The  second  day  being  Sunday,  we  concluded  to  make  a 
holiday  of  it,  and  go  fishing,  for  a change.  Mr.  Thayer,  his 
son  Charlie  and  Leroy  Wheaton  in  one  boat,  and  Moulton 
and  myself  in  the  other,  pulled  up  the  east  shore  of  the  lake 
about  a mile,  to  where  a small  lake  is  connected  with  the 
main  one  by  a narrow  channel.  Here  we  landed,  and  went 
into  the  small  lake  for  the  purpose  of  procuring  bait.  We 
dipped  up  a good  lot  of  minnows,  and  got  a few  frogs  and 
clams. 

To  see  Leroy  catch  pollywogs,  and  to  hear  the  droll  re- 
marks he  made  about  them,  was  more  fun  than  fishing,  and  I 
spent  an  hour  watching  and  listening.  He  is  an  original  char- 
acter, and  furnished  fun  for  the  whole  camp  all  the  time  we 
were  out.  He  is  one  of  the  most  useful  men  in  camp,  or  on 
any  hunting  or  fishing  expedition,  that  I have  ever  met.  He 
is  large  and  muscular,  good  natured,  willing,  and  anxious  to 
please  and  accommodate  every  one  with  whom  he  comes  in 
contact.  He  will  pull  on  a pair  of  oars  all  day,  and  come  into 
camp  at  night  as  full  of  fun  and  frolic  as  when  he  started  out 
in  the  morning.  He  is  one  of  the  most  skillful  deer  hunters  in 
the  state,  and  the  crack  of  his  Winchester  sounds  the  funeral 
knell  of  almost  every  deer  that  exposes  itself  to  his  deadly 
aim.  A gentleman  who  hunts  a great  deal  with  him  tells 
me  that  he  has,  on  two  different  occasions,  seen  him  jump 
two  deer  together  in  the  thick  woods,  and  kill  both  of  them 
before  they  could  get  out  of  reach.  In  many  respects  he  is 
a second  edition  of  old  Leatherstocking. 

The  small  lake  where  we  got  our  bait  was  also  alive  with 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


269 


bass.  Mr.  Thayer  and  Charlie  waded  in  a few  steps  from  the 
shore,  and  with  the  pollywogs  that  Leroy  furnished  them, 
caught  bass  almost  as  fast  as  they  could  handle  them.  But 
after  watching  the  sport  for  a while,  Moulton  and  I pulled  out 
on  the  main  lake  again.  We  tied  up  in  several  favorable 
looking  places,  and  tried  still  fishing,  but  did  not  have  as 
good  success  as  in  trolling.  We  could  catch  small  rock  bass, 
and  perch  by  the  dozen,  but  we  were  loaded  for  larger  game 
than  these,  and  didn’t  care  to  waste  time  with  them,  so  we 
returned  to  our  spoon  victuals. 

We  went  up  to  the  Narrows,  about  four  miles  from  camp,  and 
then  returned,  having  taken  as  many  bass  as  we  cared  for,  and 
had  all  the  sport  we  wanted.  Several  of  them  were  very  fine 
ones — weighing  three  to  three  and  a-half  pounds  each,  and 
one  weighing  four  pounds.  The  other  members  of  the  party 
had  equally  fine  sport,  and  some  of  them  showed  larger  strings 
than  I did.  Mr.  Powers  “took  the  cake”  for  this  day’s 
work  by  scoring  another  pike  that  weighed  exactly  twenty 
pounds,  and  measured  forty-three  and  a-half  inches  in  length. 
We  skinned  this  fish,  and  Mr.  Powers  has  since  had  him 
mounted.  The  total  catch  for  the  day  weighed  two  hundred 
and  ten  pounds. 

The  next  morning  when  we  awoke  it  was  raining  heavily. 
The  clouds  were  thick,  low,  and  almost  black,  and  the  rain 
came  down  in  a steady,  settled  manner,  which  indicated  that  it 
had  set  in  for  all  day.  It  afforded  a gloomy  outlook  for  the 
day’s  sport.  The  majority  of  the  party  avowed  their  deter- 
mination to  stay  in  camp,  but  two  or  three  of  the  more 
enthusiastic  said  they  were  not  afraid  of  a little  water,  applied 
externally,  and  they  would  go  out.  They  said  they  only 
objected  to  water  when  it  became  necessary  to  take  it  in- 
ternally. 

While  we  were  rigging  our  tackle,  and  breakfast  was  in 


270 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


course  of  preparation,  a loon  made  its  appearance  on  the  lake 
a short  distance  from  camp.  I asked  Leroy  if  he  would  go 
with  me  and  give  the  loon  a chase.  With  his  usual  vim  he 
answered  “ You  bet.”  The  other  boys  laughed  at  us,  said  we 
were  “loony,”  that  we  could  never  kill  him  in  the  world, 
etc.;  but  I had  hunted  loons  before,  and  knew  that  they  were 
mistaken. 

I took  my  little  Stevens  pocket  rifle  (which  I always  cairy 
with  me  when  fishing),  Leroy  took  the  oars,  and  we  pulled  out 
toward  the  loon.  When  we  got  within  about  fifty  yards  of 
him,  he  dove.  We  pulled  in  the  direction  he  took,  and  when 
he  rose  I fired  at  him.  He  went  down  again,  and  when  he 
reappeared  I shot  at  him  again ; the  bullets  in  each  case 
cutting  very  close  to  his  neck.  The  third  time  he  came  up 
he  was  not  more  than  forty  yards  from  us.  I drew  another 
Dead  on  him,  and  by  a lucky  shot  killed  him — the  bullet  pass- 
ing through  his  neck  about  an  inch  below  the  occipital  Joint. 
We  returned  to  camp  with  our  prize,  and  received  the  hearty 
congratulations  of  our  friends  on  our  success.  The  bird  was 
one  of  the  finest  specimens  I have  ever  seen,  the  plumage 
being  unusually  full  and  beautiful.  I brought  the  skin  home, 
and  have  had  it  mounted. 

Breakfast  over,  we  donned  our  rubber  suits  and  pulled  out 
up  the  lake.  The  rain  still  fell  in  torrents,  accompanied  by 
a cold  wind.  Our  friends  told  us  the  fish  would  not  bite  in 
such  weather ; and  when  we  had  rowed  three  miles  without 
getting  a strike,  we  began  to  think  their  predictions  would 
prove  true,  and  that  we  should  have  to  return  to  camp  with — 
“fisherman’s  luck.” 

But  we  kept  our  courage  up,  by  hoping  that  it  would  clear 
up  later  in  the  day,  and  that  we  should  yet  have  some  good 
sport.  Finally,  as  we^  passed  the  island,  our  two  boats  not 
more  than  twenty  yards  apart,  my  oarsman  said  : 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


271 


“ Mr.  Powers  has  got  a fish.” 

“ So  have  I,”  I said,  for  at  that  moment  I felt  a terrific 
surge  at  my  line,  and  as  I commenced  to  reel  in,  my  fish 
started  for  the  middle  of  the  lake.  I knew  at  once  that  I had 
a very  large  fish,  and  I told  John  to  throw  the  boat  out  away 
from  the  shore,,  in  order  to  keep  him  clear  of  snags.  A few 
strokes  of  the  oars  set  us  out  of  all  danger,  and  then  the  fun\. 
commenced.  At  first  he  fought  deep.  I kept  a taut  line  on 
him,  and  whenever  he  slackened  on  it,  I reeled  in.  He  would 
come  a few  feet  toward  the  boat,  then  turn,  and  with  the 
speed  almost  of  lightning  take  out  a h.undred  or  two  hundred 
feet  of  line ; and  though  I kept  the  heavy  drag  on  and 
thumbed  the  reel  besides,  it  seemed  mere  play  for  him  to  run 
with  it.  Finally  he  made  a partial  break,  showing  only  his 
broad,  forked  tail.  Mr.  Powers  asked  me  what  I had. 

I told  him  I thought  it  was  a bass,  but  if  so  it  was  a very 
large  one.  Just  then,  the  captive  made  a fearful  lfmge  into 
the  air,  clearing  the  water  by  fully  four  feet,  and  making  a 
desperate  effort  to  shake  the  hook  out  of  his  mouth.  He 
showed  his  monster  form  to  our  eager  eyes  but  a moment,  and 
then  went  down  again. 

“Yes,”  said  Powers,  “You’ve  got  a bass,  in  your  mind. 
You’ve  got  a whale  there,  and  you  want  to  be  very  careful 
that  you  don’t  lose  him.” 

All  this  time  the  great  monster  kept  up  the  fight,  running, 
leaping,  diving  straight  down,  down,  down,  until  he  would 
take  out  sixty  or  seventy  feet  of  line  and  perhaps  lie 
directly  under  the  boat.  Then  he  would  start  for  the  shore 
again,  as  if  bound  to  snag  the  line ; but  the  drag,  my  thumb, 
and  the  butt  of  the  rod,  would  make  him  break  again  and 
change  his  course. 

Talk  about  gamy  fish  ! 

Why,  reader,  if  you  could  imagine  what  it  would  be  to 


272 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


lasso  an  old  she-tiger  in  one  of  her  native  jungles,  you  can 
form  some  idea  of  what  it  isYo  hook  one  of  these  fish.  But 
no  pen  can  describe  the  scene.  You  must  catch  one  of  them 
yourself  before  you  can  know  what  magnificent  sport  it  is. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  after  a hard  fight  of  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  I so  far  exhausted  him  as  to  bring  him  alongside  the 
boat,  when  Mr.  Powers,  who  had  meantime  boarded  my 
boat,  lifted  him  in  with  the  gaff -hook.  He  proved  to  be  one 
of  the  same  species  as  the  others,  the  great  northern  pike, 
esox  lucioides  (Agassiz),  usually,  but  incorrectly,  termed  pick- 
erel. He  measured  forty-six  inches  in  length,  seven  and  a 
half  in  depth,  and  four  and  three-quarters  in  breadth.  I sat 
there  and  admired  him  for  some  minutes  before  I was  ready 
to  move.  I felt  all  the  prouder  of  my  prize  for  the  reason 
that  I had  killed  him  on  light  tackle  ; my  outfit  being  a 
twelve  ounce  bamboo  bass  rod,  a number  six  Milam  reel,  a 
number  four  braided  linen  line,  and  a number  five  spoon. 

Here  was  glory  enough  for  one  day.  I had  taken  the 
largest  fish  that  has  ever  yet  been  taken  from  this  lake,  so  far 
as  known  to  the  settlers  in  the  vicinity,  the  largest  caught 
previous  to  our  visit  having  weighed  eighteen  and  three-quar- 
ter pounds,  and  Powers’  best  one,  twenty  pounds,  and  as  the 
rain  continued  to  fall  in  an  almost  unbroken  sheet,  we  turned 
our  bow  toward  camp.  Mr.  Powers  landed  another  pike 
while  I was  playing  mine  that  weighed  eighteen  pounds. 
The  two  struck  within  a few  seconds  of  each  other,  for  the 
instant  I saw  him  commence  to  haul  in  on  his  line  I felt  the 
first  surge  at  mine.  The  boats  were  opposite  each  other,  and, 
as  stated  before,  only  a few  yards  apart. 

Powers,  Thayer  and  Leroy  staid  out  until  three  o’clock  in 
the  afternoon  and  returned  with  ten  of  these  large  pike,  mak- 
ing fifteen  in  all  that  we  had  caught  in  the  two  days,  the 
smallest  of  which  weighed  ten  pounds.  They  also  brought  in 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


273 


a fine  string  of  bass,  making  the  day’s  catch  weigh  in  all  230 
pounds,  and  the  grand  total  for  the  three  days  620  pounds. 

These  pike  differ  as  widely  from  our  common  pike,  both  in 
appearance  and  habits,  as  do  the  muscalonge.  In  shape  and 
gaminess  they  closely  resemble  the  latter,  though  the  mark- 
ings are  entirely  different.  The  great  Northern  pike  is  one  of 
the  most  gamy  of  all  our  fresh-water  fishes.  He  fights  like  a 
wild  cat  from  the  time  he  is  hooked  until  he  is  landed,  or 
escapes,  while  the  common  pike  makes  a spurt  or  two  when 
first  hooked,  and  then  allows  you  to  drag  him  in  as  you 
would  a chunk  of  wood. 

This  Long  lake  is  a very  paradise  for  the  disciples  of  Wal- 
ton. It  is  about  seven  miles  long,  and  from  a quarter  to  a 
mile  wide;  has  high,  bold,  stony,  and  in  many  places  bluffy 
banks,  and  the  water  is  so  pure  and  clear  that  you  may  see  a 
small  pebble  at  a depth  of  twenty  feet  or  more.  All  around 
the  shores  are  old  logs  and  trees  that  have  fallen  into  the 
water  and  sunk,  making  capital  feeding  and  hiding  grounds 
for  large  fish.  It  has  never  been  fished  but  a very  little.  Up 
to  last  summer,  Ashland,  thirty-five  miles  distant,  was  the 
nearest  point  to  it,  and  from  that  point  there  was  no  road,  and 
no  means  of  reaching  it,  except  on  foot. 

Last  fall  the  North  Wisconsin  railroad  was  completed  to 
within  two  miles  of  the  lake,  and  during  the  fall  and  the  pres- 
ent spring  and  summer  hundreds  of  pounds  of  fish  have  been 
taken  out  of  it.  Still  there  seems  to  be  no  perceptible  dimi- 
nution of  the  supply.  You  can  still  catch  fish  there  so  rap- 
idly that  you  will  soon  tire  of  the  sport  and  want  to  rest. 

There  are  good  accommodations  at  the  lake.  Plenty  of 
ice  is  put  up  each  winter,  so  that  you  can  save  your  fish  and 
bring  them  home.  There  are  several  boats  on  the  lake  that 
can  be  had  at  reasonable  rates.  To  reach  the  lake,  go  to 
Hudson,  Wisconsin,  and  take  the  north-bound  train  on  the 
18 


274 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


North  Wisconsin  railroad,  to  Cable.  From  there  (a  distance 
of  two  miles)  you  can  get  a team  to  take  you  out. 

I have  spun  this  narrative  to  a much  greater  length  than  I 
intended.  We  packed  our  two  largest  pike  in  ice,  and  I 
brought  them  to  Chicago.  Dr.  Velie,  secretary  of  the 
Academy  of  Sciences,  one  of  the  most  skillful  taxidermists  in 
the  West,  has  mounted  my  twenty-three  pounder  in  fine 
style. 

Mr.  Powers  has  also  had  his  twenty  pounder  mounted.  We 
brought  several  of  the  large  pike  with  us,  and  about  a hun- 
dred pounds  of  bass.  The  others  that  we  caught  we  either 
ate,  returned  to  the  water  while  alive,  or  gave  to  people  at  the 
camps,  so  that  none  were  wasted. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE  LAKE  SUPERIOR  REGION. 

FROM  MARQUETTE  TO  DULUTH  — A MILD  WINTER  — A CROWD  IN  “MACKI- 
NAW FLANNEL  ” — THE  LUMBER  INTERESTS  — FISHERIES  — BROOK 
TROUT  — DUCKS  AND  GEESE  IN  SEASON — LITTLE  HUNTING  — TROUT 
LAKE — A CHARMING  LOCATION  FOR  SPORTSMEN. 

“ There  is  a pleasure  in  these  pathless  woods, 

There  is  a rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 

There  is  society  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar, 
love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more, 

From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I steal 
From  all  I may  be  or  have  been  before, 

To  mingle  with  the  universe  and  feel 
What  I can  ne’er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal.” 

There  is  indeed  a grandeur,  a sublimity,  an  impressive 
solitude  imparted  by  the  unbroken  forests  which  line  the 
shores  of  Lake  Superior,  as  they  lay  wrapt  in  their  heavy 
mantle  of  snow,  which  it  would  be  vain  for  me  to  attempt  to 
describe.  The  scene,  although  in  such  wide  contrast  from 
^that  which  the  same  country  presents  in  summer,  is  none  the 
less  attractive  and  beautiful. 

I have  recently  spent  many  hours  alone,  wandering  far 
into  the  depths  of  these  grand  forests,  that  now  slumber  amid 
the  silence  of  a still  rigid  winter,  a silence  unbroken  save  by 
the  moaning  of  the  wind  through  the  tops  of  the  tall  pine- 
trees,  lost  in  admiration  of  the  scene  before  me.  To  most 
people  the  woods  present  but  a lonely  and  dreary  aspect  in 
winter,  but  to  me  the  scene  is  sublime.  I love  the  very  soli- 
tude and  loneliness  which  the  season  occasions,  and  enjoy  it 

275 


276 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


quite  as  much  as  the  more  picturesque  and  musical  features 
presented  in  the  summer  season. 

Throughout  this  entire  range  of  country  skirting  the  south 
shore  of  Lake  Superior,  from  Marquette  to  Duluth  and  ex- 
tending from  the  lake  a hundred  miles  to  the  southward,  the 
ground  is  now,  on  the  first  day  of  April,  covered  with  snow 
to  a depth  of  from  two  to  three  feet.  The  lakes  and  streams 
are  covered  with  ice  twenty  to  thirty  inche^lthick.  Lake 
Superior  itself  is  frozen  all  along  the  shore  and  for  many 
miles  out  toward  its  center.  The  lighthouse-keeper  at  Outer 
Island,  which  lies  twenty  miles  ©ut  in  the  lake  from  Bayfield, 
reports  that  no  open  water  is  visible  from  the  tower  even  with 
the  aid  of  a powerful  telescope,  and  it  is  stated  that  a short 
distance  west  of  Bayfield  the  lake  is  frozen  entirely  across. 

Teams  are  passing  between  the  various  towns  along  the 
lakeshore  on  the  ice,  and  I have  myself  just  returned  from  a 
delightful  sleigh-ride  to  Bayfield,  a distance  of  eighteen  miles 
from  Ashland,  the  entire  trip  having  been  made  on  the  ice, 
and  over  water  measuring  from  twenty  to  one  hundred  feet  in 
depth.  Considering  the  time  of  year  and  the  extremely  mild 
winter  that  has  prevailed  south  of  here,  the  novelty  of  the 
sensation,  as  we  sped  through  the  keen  frosty  air,  which  was 
rendered  musical  by  the  cheerful  sound  of  sleigh-bells,  may 
be  more  easily  imagined  than  described.  Even  now  the  mer- 
cury runs  down  to  zero  or  very  near  it  every  night.  In 
mid-day  it  ranges  from  twenty  to  forty  degrees  above. 

The  lumbermen  are  still  busily  engaged  cutting  and  bank- 
ing logs,  ready  to  run  down  on  the  “ June  rise.”  Thousands 
of  men  and  teams  have  been  employed  all  winter  cutting  and 
banking  logs  along  the  streams  and  railroads,  and  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars  will  be  put  in  circulation  when  these 
vast  forces  are  paid  off  for  their  winter’s  work.  These  lumber- 
men, or  more  strictly  “ loggers,”  are  an  interesting  species  of 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


277 


the  genus  homo.  They  live  principally  on  pork,  beans,  corn- 
beef  and  coffee,  the  pork  forming  the  leading  article  in  the 
bill  of  fare,  by  a large  majority.  This  class  of  food  produces 
so  much  animal  heat  in  their  bodies  that  they  can  stand  cold 
equal  to  an  Esquimaux,  and  even  in  this  semi-arctic  winter 
they  wear  very  light  clothing.  They  seldom  wear  coats  or 
vests,  even  when  not  at  work.  Their  pants  and  shirts  are 
made  of  the  thick  heavy  “Mackinaw”  flannel,  and  if,  owing 
to  an  unusually  cold  snap  or  to  their  not  being  at  work,  they 
feel  cold,  they  simply  put  on  another  shirt.  This  flannel  is 
made  up  in  very  flashy  colors,  the  most  popular  being  blue, 
crimson  and  scarlet,  though  some  of  the  men  wear  grey.  A 
crowd  of  them  together  present  a most  fantastic  picture. 
One  man  wears  a red  shirt,  blue  pants,  black  cap  and  mocca- 
sins ; another  wears  a blue  shirt,  red  pants  and  a red  cap ; 
still  another  wears  a suit  of  all  red  and  his  “ pard”  one  of  all 
blue,  and  large  cow-hide  boots.  Many  of  them  wear  red 
and  blue  flannel  or  knit  caps,  and  occasionally  some  one  will 
heighten  the  picture  by  wearing  a broad-brim  black  or  drab 
sombrero  and  a red  scarf  or  handkerchief  tied  around  his 
waist.  There  are  also  many  Indians  and  half-breeds  in  this 
country,  with  whom  this  taste  for  gaudy  colors  is  inherent,  and 
they  even  out-do  their  white  brethren  in  their  display  of  colors. 

As  we  roll  up  to  a station,  many  of  which  consist  of  but  a 
few  log-cabins,  in  the  midst  of  this  wilderness,  and  this  gaily 
attired  throng  turns  out  to  see  the  train  come  in,  the  traveler 
need  draw  but  slightly  on  his  imagination  to  fancy  himself 
passing  over  the  Alps  and  his  train  suddenly  surrounded  and 
attacked  by  the  Alpine  banditti. 

One  of  these  loggers,  who  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind 
to  “settle”  here,  had  been  away  to  the  settlements,  had 
married  and  was  returning  with  his  bride  to  his  forest  home, 
on  the  same  train  on  which  I was  a passenger. 


278 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


He  was  a “sandy”  complexioned  man,  with  red,  bushy 
hair,  red  mustache,  and  had  not  shaved  for  about  two  weeks. 
He  wore  a pair  of  red  flannel  pants  tucked  in  his  boots,  a gray 
flannel  shirt  and  (for  this  occasion  only)  a short,  heavy  black 
coat.  The  bride  was  a rather  comely  but  extremely  awkward- 
looking  girl  of  probably  twenty  summers  (and  about  the  same 
numbers  of  winters),  attired  in  a “ home-made”  grey  dress, 
red  and  white  plaid  shawl,  green  knit  scarf  and  a black  bonnet 
trimmed  with  a large  black  ostrich  plume. 

The  groom  patronized  the  train  boy  liberally,  and  he  and 
the  bride  munched  pop-corn,  peanuts,  oranges,  figs  and  candy 
all  through  the  journey.  They  looked  and  acted  as  if  very 
happy. 

Fire  has  destroyed  large  tracts  of  pine  and  hard  wood  in 
this  portion  of  the  state.  Whole  townships  are  frequently 
laid  desolate  in  a single  day.  After  the  pine-tree  is  killed  by 
fire  it  soon  decays  and  falls.  It  is  truly  a sad  sight  to  see 
thousands  of  acres  of  valuable  timber  thus  offered  as  a sacrifice 
to  the  consuming  element,  and  yet  there  seem  to  be  no  means 
of  preventing  it.  Notwithstanding  the  frequent  ravishes  of  fire 
and  the  millions  of  trees  that  are  annually  cut  off  by  the  lum- 
bermen, there  is  still  but  a very  slight  diminution  of  the  supply, 
so  vast  is  the  extent  of  this  pine  region  that  one  may  travel 
twenty,  thirty,  or  even  fifty  miles  in  many  places,  through 
unbroken  forests,  without  seeing  a cabin,  a footprint,  or  any 
other  sign  of  a white  man.  It  is  estimated  by  good  judges 
that  it  will  take  fifty  years  to  exhaust  the  supply  of  pine  in 
this  state,  at  the  present  rate  of  consumption. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  lumber  interests  in  this  portion 
of  the  Lake  Superior  country  are  the  fisheries.  Hundreds  of 
men  in  this  place  and  Bayfield,  as  well  as  at  other  points  along 
the  shore,  live  by  the  rich  products  of  this  fertile  body  of 
water.  It  is  estimated  that  nearly  three  hundred  tons  of  lake- 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


2/9 


trout  and  whitefish  have  been  shipped  from  these  two  points 
within  the  past  four  months.  The  greater  portion  of  these 
are  caught  in  nets,  set  through  the  ice,  though  a great  many 
men  are  constantly  employed  in  catching  with  hook  and  line. 

Holes  are  cut  through  the  ice  where  the  water  is  thirty  to 
sixty  feet  deep,  and  a hook,  baited  with  cut  bait  or  pork- 
rind,  is  dropped  down  within  a few  feet  of  the  bottom,  and 
is  then  kept  moving  up  and  down.  When  the  fisherman  feels 
a strike,  he  gives  the  line  a sharp  jerk,  and  when  he  finds  that 
he  has  fastened  his  fish,  he  runs  with  the  line  until  the  fish  is 
brought  through  the  hole  and  landed  on  the  ice.  This  is 
rendered  easy  by  cutting  the  hole  much  larger  at  the  bottom 
than  at  the  top.  A day’s  catch  varies  from  twenty  up  to  one 
hundred  pounds,  though  occasionally  a man  has  been  known 
to  take  as  high  as  four  or  five  hundred  pounds  in  a day.  Only 
trout  are  usually  caught  with  hook  and  line,  the  whitefish 
being  all  taken  in  nets.  The  fish  bring  four  cents  per 
pound  on  the  ice.  The  men  protect  themselves  from  the 
severity  of  the  weather  by  erecting  wind-breakers  near  their 
stands.  This  is  done  by  planting  stakes  in  the  ice,  and 
spreading  blankets,  or  pieces  of  canvas  over  them.  In  sum- 
mer time  the  hand-fishing  is  done  from  boats,  with  equally  as 
good  success  as  in  winter. 

This  is  a very  popular  resort  for  fishermen  and  sportsmen 
during  the  summer.  Nearly  all  the  streams  emptying  into 
Lake  Superior  teem  with  brook-trout,  and  the  small  inland 
lakes,  which  are  very  numerous,  contain  great  numbers  of 
black-bass,  pike,  pickerel  and  muskalonge.  Some  marvel- 
ous accounts  are  given  of  the  great  catches  of  brook-trout, 
that  have  been  made  in  this  section,  and  were  they  not  sub- 
stantiated by  men  of  undoubted  veracity,  we  could  scarcely 
credit  them.  A gentleman,  his  wife  and  daughter,  who  spent 
several  weeks  here  last  summer,  frequently  caught  as  many  as 


280 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


three  hundred  trout  in  a single  day,  in  Fish  creek,  which  emp- 
ties into  Chequamegon  bay,  only  three  miles  from  here.  An  old 
gentleman  from  Pittsburg,  who  has  visited  this  locality  several 
times,  has  caught  two  hundred  in  less  than  a day  on  several 
occasions.  Hon.  Samuel  S.  Fifield  (the  present  Lieutenant 
Governor  of  the  State),  editor  of  the  Ashland  Press,  states 
that  he  made  a trip  up  White  river  two  years  ago,  in  company 
with  two  other  gentlemen,  and  that  in  two  days’  fishing  they 
scored  over  six  hundred  trout.  A great  many  brook-trout 
are  taken  in  the  lake  and  bays  along  the  rocky  shores,  and  it 
is  here  that  the  largest  ones  are  usually  found.  They  are 
frequently  taken  as  large  as  three  or  four  pounds  in  weight. 
Those  in  the  streams  in  this  vicinity  are  also  large,  the 
average  weight  being  from  half-a-pound  to  a pound.  An  old 
fisherman  who  has  lived  here  for  over  twenty-five  years  in- 
forms me  that,  notwithstanding  the  great  number  of  fish 
annually  taken  from  these  waters,  he  can  see  no  preceptible 
decrease  in  the  supply ; that  each  year’s  catch  is  as  large  as 
that  of  any  previous  year,  the  only  difference  being  that 
not  so  many  of  the  very  large  fish  are  now  taken  as  in  former 
years  ; still  the  great  slaughter  that  is  being  practiced  by 
many  who  come  here  from  abroad,  such  as  in  the  instances 
mentioned  above,  must  and  will  eventually  deplete  the 
waters,  and  the  practice  of  taking  such  large  numbers  merely 
for  the  momentary  pleasure  it  affords,  or  for  the  sake  of 
publishing  the  scores  at  home,  cannot  be  too  severely  con- 
demned. A law  should  be  enacted  making  it  a misdemeanor, 
punishable  by  a heavy  fine,  to  catch  more  than  a reasonable 
number  of  fish  in  any  one  day. 

Game  is  also  abundant  in  this  south-shore  country.  Deer 
especially  are  very  numerous.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  there 
is  but  little  hunting  done  here,  either  by  the  Indians  or  white 
settlers,  though  there  area  few  of  the  former  who  live  by  the 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


281 


chase  and  they  supply  the  home  market  and  ship  large  quan- 
tities of  game  abroad.  Most  of  the  Indians  hang  around  the 
towns  and  live  by  fishing,  making  maple  sugar  and  working 
at  such  work  as  they  can  get  to  do.  The  majority  _pf  them 
have  more  or  less  white  blood  in  their  veins,  and  they,  as  a 
rule,  care  less  for  the  pleasures  of  the  chase  than  the  full- 
bloods.  I am  informed  that  of  those  few  who  are  skillful 
hunters,  a single  man  frequently  kills  four  or  five  deer  in  a 
day.  Mr.  J.  B.  Bono,  proprietor  of  the  Fountain  House,  at 
Bayfield,  told  me  that  last  September  three  Indians  killed 
fourteen  deer  in  one  day  within  twenty  miles  of  Bayfield. 
Fur  animals,  such  as  the  otter,  beaver,  mink,  marten,  wild  cat 
and  lynx,  are  also  numerous. 

There  are  thousands  of  ducks  and  geese  here  in  season. 
Mr.  Bono  tells  me  that  he  employed  an  Indian  to  go  out  and 
kill  a lot  for  his  hotel  last  fall.  They  took  a boat  and  went 
into  some  marshes  at  the  mouth  of  Sand  river,  a few  miles  west 
of  Bayfield,  and  in  three  hours’  shooting  killed  190  ducks. 

Visiting  sportsmen  have  frequently  made  equally  large 
bags  of  both  ducks  and  geese.  Ashland  and  Bayfield  are 
both  popular  and  pleasant  summer  resorts,  and  during  the  past 
two  summers  have  been  crowded  to  overflowing  with  pleasure 
seekers.  Aside  from  the  fishing  and  shooting  which  the 
region  affords,  it  is  a delightful  place  in  which  to  spend  the 
summer.  Both  towns  are  supplied  with  large,  pleasant  and 
well-kept  hotels.  The  climate,  even  during  July  and  August, 
is  pleasant,  the  nights  especially  being  decidedly  cool  and  in- 
vigorating. A good  heavy  blanket  is  needed  every  night  in 
summer.  The  Chequamegon  House,  at  Ashland,  is  an  ele- 
gant building  and  is  handsomely  furnished.  There  are 
always  plenty  of  boats  and  guides  to  be  had  at  reasonable 
prices,  and  sailing  and  rowing  on  the  bay  afford  a most 
delightful  pastime. 


282 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


The  village  of  Phillips,  seventy-six  miles  south  of  here,  on 
the  Wisconsin  Central  railway,  is  also  a most  charming  sum- 
mer resort.  It  is  situated  on  the  bank  of  Elk  lake,  a beauti- 
ful little  sheet  of  water,  affording  delightful  rowing,  sailing 
and  bathing  facilities  and  the  surrounding  country  also 
abounds  in  fish  and  game. 

A great  deal  ot  game  is  killed  in  this  vicinity  by  those 
who  take  the  trouble  to  hunt  it.  Mr.  Fewell  shipped  over 
3,000  pounds  of  venison  from  this  place  a year  ago  last  winter. 
Only  a very  little  has  been  killed  during  the  past  winter. 
More  trapping  has  been  done,  however,  than  in  previous 
winters.  He  has  shipped  this  past  winter  large  quantities  of 
furs,  mostly  beaver  and  otter.  I met  here  Mr.  C.  R.  Patter- 
son, an  old  Indian  trader,  who  has  a post  on  the  headwaters 
of  the  Flambeau  river,  about  a hundred  miles  northeast  of 
Phillips.  He  described  a lake  that  lies  a few  miles  from  his  post, 
called  Trout  Lake,  which  he  says  abounds  in  a variety  of 
trout  closely  resembling  the  brook-trout,  but  which  differs  from 
them  slightly  in  some  respects,  and  grow  much  larger.  They 
often  attain  a weight  of  thirty  pounds.  They  also  differ 
widely  from  the  lake  trout.  They  are  readily  taken  with 
either  the  fly  or  live  minnow.  Several  Chicago  sportsmen 
have  visited  the  lake,  and  can  bear  testimony  to  the  superior 
quality,  large  size  and  great  numbers  of  the  trout  it  contains. 
The  lake  is  eight  miles  long,  six  miles  wide,  and  contains 
several  islands,  each  of  which  covers  ten  acres  or  more,  and 
affords  beautiful  camping-grounds.  Mr.  P.  says  all  the  varie- 
ties of  game  that  inhabit  this  country  are  abundant  in  this 
locality. 

Taken  all  in  all,  this  northern  portion  of  Wisconsin  is 
probably  the  best  fish  and  game  country  now  to  be  found  in 
the  Northwest.  It  is  reached  by  way  of  the  Chicago,  Mil- 
waukee & St.  Paul  and  the  Wisconsin  Central  railroads, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


283 


the  latter  road  reaching  clear  through  to  the  great  lake. 
This  company  furnishes  excelleht  facilities  to  sportsmen, 
transporting  dogs,  boats  and  camp  equipage  free,  and  stop- 
ping trains  at  any  point  between  stations,  where  they  may 
wish  to  get  on  or  off.  Sportsmen  visiting  this  region  will 
find  in  Mr.  Fewell,  of  Phillips,  and  Hon.  Sam  Fifield,  of 
Ashland,  pleasant  and  valuable  acquaintances,  and  should  not 
fail  to  consult  both  as  to  the  best  localities  in  which  to  find 
particular  sport  of  which  they  may  be  in  search. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


AUTUMN  RAMBLINGS  IN  NORTHERN  MICHIGAN. 

AMONG  THE  WOLVERINES — OFF  TO  THE  TWIN  LAKES  — MY  “HUNTER’S 
PET” — THROUGH  THE  PINE  FOREST- — ONE  SHOT  AND  ONE  MISS  — \ 
PACK  OF  WOLVES  — HIDING-PLACES  OF  THE  BEAR  — A SHOT  AT  A 
DEER  — ON  BOARD  THE  “ NORTHERN  BELLE.” 

On  the  night  of  September  2d,  1878,  a party  of  five  of  us, 
weary  of  the  cares  and  duties  of  the  office,  and  longing  for  a 
few  weeks’  rest  and  recreation,  boarded  the  train  on  the  L., 
C.  and  L.  railroad,  at  Louisville,  Ky.,  which  was  at  that  time 
my  home,  and  retired  for  a night’s  slumber  in  a clean  and 
comfortable  bed  in  a Pullman  sleeping-car.  We  soon  forgot 
all  our  cares,  and  awoke  at  the  call  of  the  conductor  at  four 
o’clock  a.m.  to  find  ourselves  in  Cincinnati,  where  we  par- 
took of  a hearty  breakfast,  and  at  a quarter-past  seven  a.m. 
left  that  city  over  the  Cincinnati,  Hamilton  & Dayton  railroad 
for  Richmond,  Ind.  At  this  point  we  transferred,  in  the  union 
depot  at  ten  minutes  to  eleven  a.m.,  to  the  cosy  and  comforta- 
ble coach  of  the  Grand  Rapids  & Indiana  railroad,  which  car- 
ried us  through  to  our  destination  without  any  other  changes. 
The  conductor  and  other  officials  of  this  road  resorted  to  every 
means  at  their  command  to  make  our  journey  and  that  of 
every  passenger  under  their  charge  as  comfortable  as  possible. 
I have  made  several  trips  over  this  road,  and  in  each  case 
have  been  very  favorably  impressed  with  the  uniform  cour- 
tesy and  kindness  displayed  by  all  its  employes  toward  their 
patrons. 

At  half-past  six  'a.m.  of  the  4th  instant  we  arrived  at 
Elmira,  a small  station  twenty-five  miles  south  of  Petoskey, 

2 64 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


285 


and  579  miles  from  Louisville,  where  we  alighted  from  the 
train.  We  had  made  the  run  in  thirty  hours,  which,  after 
deducing  the  three  hours’  lay-over  in  Cincinnati,  makes  a 
creditable  showing  for  the  roads  as  to  speed.' 

We  loaded  our  tent,  provisions,  guns,  fishing  tackle  and 
other  baggage  into  a wagon  which  we  had  engaged  for  the 
purpose,  and  started  for  Twin  Lakes,  in  Montmorency 
county,  forty  miles  east.  By  noon  we  had  made  half  the 
distance,  and  stopped  to  lunch  near  a small  frame  house, 
which  our  driver  informed  us  was  the  last  human  habitation 
we  would  see  on  the  route.  His  statement  proved  correct. 
The  remainder  of  the  ro  *e  lay  through  a most  wild  and  deso- 
late region  of  country,  covered  with  a rich  growth  of  giant  Nor- 
way pine,  interspersed  occasionally  with  vast  and  almost 
impenetrable  swamps  of  hemlock,  tamarack  and  white  cedar. 
We  passed  over  one  tract  of  perhaps  a thousand  acres,  where 
years  ago  fire  had,  during  a dry  season,  passed  through  and 
killed  all  the  timber.  Subsequently  other  fires  had  followed 
and  burned  up  every  vestige  of  dead  timber,  reducing  the 
country  to  the  condition  of  a natural  prairie.  This  is  now 
grown  up  with  scattering  dwarf-pines,  or  as  the  settlers  call 
them,  “jack-pines.”  These  openings  or  plains  furnish  fine 
grazing  lands  for  deer,  and  at  the  proper  season  are  the 
favorite  hunting-grounds  for  the  Indians  and  white  hunters, 
as  the  game  can  be  seen  much  farther  than  in  the  woods. 

About  nine  o’clock  at  night  we  reached  Twin  Lakes,  upon 
the  bank  of  one  of  which  we  pitched  our  camp,  built  a rous- 
ing fire,  made  a pot  of  strong  coffee,  of  which  we  drank  lib- 
erally, and  lay  down  to  enjoy  the  rest  we  so  much  needed 
after  our  long  journey.  On  the  following  day,  some  of  our 
party  amused  themselves  by  taking  a few  fine  bass  and  pick- 
erel from  the  lakes,  others  by  shooting  a few  ducks,  and  the 
balance  by  strolling  through  the  woods,  enjoying  the  fresh. 


286 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


invigorating  atmosphere,  etc.  Our  teamster,  Steve  Bradford, 
remained  with  us  until  the  following  morning,  and  during 
this  day  took  several  good  fish.  On  Monday  morning  he 
left  us  to  return  home.  An  old  hunter  and  trapper  who  had 
previously  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  our  camp,  and  who 
had  been  away  several  days  on  a hunting  expedition,  returned 
to  his  camp  at  this  juncture,  empty-handed.  To  our  eager  in- 
quiries regarding  the  prospect  of  killing  a few  deer  within  the 
next  few  weeks,  he  replied  that  there  was  scarcely  a possibility 
of  our  doing  so,  as  at  this  particular  season  the  does  were 
weaning  their  fawns  and  were  lying  hidden  away  from  them 
all  through  the  day ; that  the  fawns  being  naturally  the  most 
timid  creatures  in  the  world,  would  not  venture  out  to  feed 
during  the  day  alone  ; that  the  bucks  were  also  lying  hidden 
away  drying  their  horns,  and  that  each  ventured  out  to  feed 
only  at  night,  and  then  only  for  a short  time — barely  long 
enough  to  eat  a quantity  of  food  sufficient  to  last  them  through 
the  following  day.  He  said  that  had  we  chosen  a time  a few 
weeks  earlier  or  later,  we  would  have  found  them  ranging 
freely  during  the  day,  feeding  and  exercising,  and  would  have 
had  no  trouble  in  securing  frequent  and  easy  shots ; but  at 
this  particular  time  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  find  a 
deer  under  any  circumstances. 

We  were  sadly  disappointed  at  hearing  such  cmiavorable 
news,  but  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  put  forth 
strenuous  efforts  to  secure  at  least  venison  enough  to  supply 
our  camp  during  our  stay.  The  old  hunter  readily  consented 
to  act  as  our  guide,  and  to  do  his  best  toward  finding  a deer. 
According,  early  on  Monday  morning  he  reported  at  our 
tent,  armed  with  a Henry  repeating  rifle,  ready  to  take  the 
war-path.  I took  my  Stevens  breech-loading  rifle,  of  the 
“ Hunter’s  Pet”  pattern,  a light  but  very  effective  weapon. 
Doctor  Shortt,  another  member  of  our  party,  took  a breech- 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


287 


loading  shot-gun,  loaded  with  buckshot,  and  together  we 
three  filed  out  through  the  pine  forest  and  soon  entered  upon 
one  of  the  jack-pine  plains,  as  the  settlers  call  them.  We 
had  not  proceeded  more  than  a mile  over  this  plain  when  we 
started  a magnificent  buck  from  his  hiding-place.  We  were 
walking  single-file  at  the  time,  our  guide  in  front  and  we  fol- 
lowing. As  the  dear  sprang  up  our  guide  brought  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder  and  pulled,  but  his  cartridge  failed  to  go.  He  being 
directly  in  front  of  me  some  twenty  paces,  and  the  deer  run- 
ning directly  from  us,  prevented  me  from  getting  a fair  shot 
without  endangering  our  guide’s  life.  Still,  as  the  buck 
bounded  slightly  out  of  his  line  and  plunged  into  a thicket,  I 
made  a snap-shot  and  missed.  As  the  Doctor  was  still  in  the 
rear  of  both  of  us,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  shoot  at  all. 
So  at  the  end  of  this,  our  first  inning,  our  score  stood  one 
shot  and  one  miss. 

However,  we  could  scarcely  regret  our  ill  luck,  for  we  were 
so  enraptured  by  the  beauty  and  grace  of  this  magnificent 
animal  as  he  arose  from  his  hiding-place  and  bounded  lightly 
and  gracefully  away,  like  a phantom  in  the  midnight  air,  or  a 
shadow  on  the  wall,  that,  notwithstanding  our  greed  for  game, 
we  should  surely  have  suffered  severe  remorse  of  conscience 
had  we  succeeded  in  sacrificing  his  rich  life.  After  this 
episode,  we  hunted  faithfully  all  day  without  getting  another 
shot. 

About  three  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  we  separated,  so  as  to 
cover  more  ground.  About  the  same  time  a heavy  rain-storm 
set  in,  which  continued  through  the  day  and  night.  The 
Doctor  and  the  guide  soon  returned  to  camp  by  different 
routes,  but  I continued  in  a northwesterly  course  to  a large 
tract  of  heavy,  hardwood  timber,  where  our  guide  had 
informed  me  we  would  be  more  likely  to  find  game  at  this 
season  than  in  the  open  pine  woods  or  on  the  plains.  I had 


288 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


no  better  success  here,  however,  than  in  the  pine  lands,  and, 
finding  darkness  drawing  nigh,  I decided  not  to  return  to 
camp  that  night.  I accordingly  took  a trail  that  led  to  a 
shanty  where  lived  a German  settler  or  “ homesteader,”  as 
they  are  called  here.  I reached  this  house  just  as  it  began  to 
grow  dark,  and  was  informed  that  I was  then  twelve  miles 
from  camp  in  a direct  line,  and  had  traveled  during  the  day 
about  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles.  I was  kindly  cared  for  by  this 
generous,  warm-hearted  German  and  his  wife,  both  of  whom  I 
soon  learned  were  well  educated  in  their  native  tongue,  and 
also  in  French  and  Spanish.  The  man  is  by  profession  a civil 
engineer  and  draughtsman,  and  formerly  held  a good  position 
in  the  employ  of  a railroad  company  in  Germany.  His  wife 
had  been  a teacher  in  the  schools  of  Berlin,  and  later  a gov- 
erness in  the  family  of  a wealthy  nobleman.  They  now  live 
in  a log  shanty  about  twelve  feet  square,  with  a roof  com- 
posed of  slabs  or  puncheons,  split  from  pine  logs,  and  without 
a floor  of  any  kind. 

The  roof  leaks  like  a sieve,  and  on  this  occasion  they  were 
ti  ampin g around  in  the  mud  while  attending  to  their  house- 
hold duties.  There  was  not  even  the  conventional  large 
place  and  bright  log  fire  to  cheer  the  scene,  but  only  a dull  fire 
in  a small  stove.  However,  their  warm  hearts  made  amends 
for  all  that  their  home  lacked  in  the  way  of  comforts  and  con- 
veniences. I was  treated  to  a frugal  supper  of  roast  bear-meat, 
potatoes,  bread  and  tea,  and  the  rain  ceasing  soon  after,  I 
retired  to  rest  and  slept  soundly  till  daylight. 

This  family  has  a fine  piano  standing  on  the  ground  in  one 
corner  of  the  room,  upon  which  are  pded  some  two  or  three 
hundred  volumes  of  choice  books  in  different  languages,  but 
principally  in  German.  On  their  homestead  is  a small  lake, 
covering  about  ten  acres,  which  is  the  head  of  Thunder  Bay 
river.  The  lake  is  about  thirty  feet  deep  in  the  center,  clear 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


289 


as  crystal,  has  no  inlet  save  springs  in  the  bottom  of  it,  and 
has  an  outlet  about  fifteen  feet  wide,  and  from  one  to  two  feet 
deep,  with  a strong  current.  The  lake  is  full  of  fine  fish. 

I started  early  in  the  morning  for  camp,  where  I arrived 
about  noon  and  found  the  boys  delighted  to  see  me.  They 
had  passed  an  anxious  night  and  forenoon,  thinking  some  harm 
had  befallen  me  — that  I had  wounded  a bear  and  had  been 
attacked  and  killed  by  him,  or  something  of  the  kind.  They 
were  glad  to  learn,  however,  that  I had  merely  been  on  an 
exploring  expedition  to  the  head-waters  of  Thunder  Bay 
river. 

On  my  return  to  camp  on  Wednesday  I learned  that  the 
other  members  of  the  party  had,  during  my  absence,  taken  a 
pickerel  thirty  inches  long  and  weighing  eight  pounds,  several 
four-pound  black-bass  and  numerous  smaller  specimens  of 
both  species.  While  two  of  them  were  out  in  a boat  fishing, 
a large  black  bear  came  to  the  edge  of  the  water  about  two 
hundred  yards  away,  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  quietly 
contemplated  the  strange  intruders  before  him.  One  of  the 
party  brought  his  Burgess  repeating  rifle  to  bear  upon  Bruin, 
and  fired  several  shots  before  getting  the  exact  range.  He 
finally  got  it,  however,  and  plunged  a ball  through  the 
animal’s  haunches  which  caused  him  to  seek  shelter  in  a 
neighboring  swamp  in  a hurry.  The  party  landed  and  fol- 
lowed him  as  far  as  they  could  find  his  trail,  but  as  they  soon 
struck  dry  ground  they  could  then  see  it  no  longer,  and  were 
compelled  to  abandon  the  chase  and  return  to  camp,  greatly 
disappointed  at  their  failure  to  capture  so  rich  a prize. 

Early  the  next  morning,  accompanied  by  my  guide,  I 
again  took  to  the  woods,  determined,  if  not  to  capture  veni- 
son, at  least  to  explore  the  surrounding  country  until  I was 
fully  satisfied  Ah  to  its  character  and  resources.  About  four  miles 
from  camp  we  entered  a vast  tract  of  hardwood  timber,  of  a 
19 


290 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


most  luxuriant  growth,  many  trees  measuring  four  to  six  feet 
in  diameter.  This  tract  abounds  in  wild  fruits  of  various 
kinds.  We  found  during  the  day  blackberries,  raspberries, 
hucklebefries,  sugar-pears,  ground-hemlock  berries,  winter- 
green  berries  and  red  cherries,  upon  each  of  which  we  feasted 
to  our  hearts’  content.  About  noon  we  started  another  fine 
buck,  at  which  I got  a running  shot,  but  through  such  thick 
brush  that  I failed  to  bring  him  down.  The  guide’s  gun 
again  failed  to  go  when  he  pulled,  at  which  he  grew  exceed- 
ingly “hot,”  and  threatened  all  manner  of  violence  to  the 
weapon  if  it  should  ever  behave  so  badly  again.  At  two 
o’clock  we  arrived  at  a lumber  camp  on  Hunt  creek,  one  of 
the  tributaries  of  Thunder  Bay  river,  where  we  had  expected 
to  take  dinner;  but  unfortunately  we  found  the  camp  deserted 
and  the  cupboard  in  the  same  deplorable  condition  as  Mrs. 
Hubbard  found  hers  when  she  went  to  it  to  get  her  poor  dog  a 
bone.  However,  we  did  not  fare  quite  so  badly  as  the  histori- 
cal canine,  for  we  had  brought  a light  lunch  with  us  to  pro- 
vide against  such  contingencies.  After  eating  it  and  resting 
an  hour  we  started  for  another  camp  fifteen  miles  farther 
down  the  creek,  where  we  intended  to  spend  the  night.  We 
hunted  through  the  woods  in  the  direction  of  the  camp  until 
near  sundown,  when  we  struck  a wagon-track  which  the  guide 
said  would  take  us  to  camp,  and  which  we  would  easily 
reach  before  dark,  but  he  had  been  misinformed  in  regard  to 
it,  and  having  never  been  over  the  ground  before,  soon  con- 
cluded that  there  was  a probability  of  our  having  to  sleep  on 
the  ground  that  night.  We  pushed  on,  however,  as  long  as 
we  could  possibly  see  the  track  and  then  followed  it  several 
miles  farther  by  feeling  for  it  with  our  feet.  With  great  diffi- 
culty we  kept  in  it  in  this  way  until  it  grew  so  dim  that  we 
could  do  so  no  longer,  and  at  nine  o’clock  we  werr  compelled 
to  abandon  all  hope  of  finding  the  camp  that  night.  We 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


291 


accordingly  halted,  built  a fire  of  dry  pine  logs,  and,  without 
a mouthful  of  food  of  any  kind,  lay  down  on  the  bare  ground 
for  a night’s  sleep.  We  had  walked  during  the  day  thirty- 
five  miles  and  were  tired  enough  to  sleep  without  the  luxury 
of  a tent  and  good,  warm  bedding.  Several  times  during  the 
night  we  awoke  to  find  our  fire  burned  down  low  and  ourselves  * 
numb  with  cold,  but  we  piled  on  more  fuel,  toasted  ourselves 
before  the  bright  blaze  and  returned  to  our  slumbers.  Just 
before  daylight  a pack  of  wolves  came  within  a quarter  of  a 
mile  of  our  fire  and  gave  us  a matinee  of  their  wild,  weird 
music.  The  performance  was  opened  by  a male  voice,  of  a 
tenor  quality,  which  was  soon  joined  by  a female  in  a rich 
contralto,  then  by  an  alto,  then  by  a soprano,  and  so  on  until 
at  least  a dozen  had  chimed  in  and  sung  their  parts.  The 
chorus  probably  occupied  fifteen  minutes  and  then  gradually 
died  away. 

As  soon  as  it  became  light  enough  for  us  to  see  readily, 
we  shouldered  our  rifles,  and,  leaving  the  trail  which  we  then 
ascertained  did  not  lead  in  the  direction  of  the  lumber-camp 
at  all,  we  took  a due  easterly  course,  and  had  not  walked 
more  than  three  miles  before  our  ears  were  gladdened  by  the 
sound  of  human  voices,  which  we  found  came  from  a point 
about  a mile  to  our  right.  Turning  and  walking  briskly  in 
that  direction,  we  soon  reached  the  camp.  The  cook,  a 
large  good-hearted  Irishman,  sat  us  down  to  a sumptuous 
breakfast  of  baked  beans,  boiled  corned-beef,  bacon,  pota- 
toes, biscuit  and  tea,  and  ordered  us  to  help  ourselves. 
Never  did  the  most  dutiful  soldier  obey  an  order  with  more' 
alacrity  than  we  obeyed  that,  and  never  did  a vanquished  foe 
disappear  more  rapidly  before  the  onslaught  of  an  advancing 
column  than  did  that  provender  under  the  ceaseless  fire  of 
our  voracious  appetites.  It  was  the  first  regular  meal  we  had 
eaten  in  twenty-eight  hours,  and  in  that  time  we  had  walked 


292 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


nearly  forty  miles.  After  fully  satisfying  our  appetites,  we 
filled  our  game  bags  with  bread  and  meat  for  a noonday 
lunch,  and  again  set  out  in  the  direction  of  our  own  camp. 
During  the  forenoon  we  crossed  one  of  the  almost  impene- 
trable swamps  with  which  this  country  abounds.  This  one  is 
thickly  grown  with  spruce,  tamarack  and  white  cedar.  Un- 
derneath this  growth  the  formation  seems  to  be  a light  quick- 
sand, which  stands  full  of  water.  We  stood  on  the  roots  of 
the  undergrowth,  which  forms  a network,  or  screen,  over  the 
quicksand,  and,  jumping  up  and  down,  the  ground  and 
bushes  would  shake  for  two  or  three  rods  in  every  direction. 
These  swamps  seem  to  be  the  favorite  hiding-places  of  the 
bear,  for  they  are  literally  cut  up  with  bear-tracks  and  wal- 
lows, and  in  some  places  well-beaten  paths  are  seen  where 
the  bears  pass  from  one  part  of  the  swamp  to  another.  My 
guide  informed  me  that  if  we  would  sit  down  here,  by  one  of 
these  paths,  and  wait  a few  hours,  we  would  be  almost  sure 
of  a shot,  but  our  plan  would  not  admit  of  this  loss  of  time ; 
so  we  pressed  on  and  arrived  at  camp  late  in  the  afternoon, 
tired  enough  to  thoroughly  enjoy  the  comforts  it  afforded  us. 

Other  expeditions  in  different  directions  from  camp  were 
made  during  our  stay,  but  they  so  closely  resembled  those 
already  described  that  further  particulars  of  them  would  not 
be  interesting.  However,  we  failed  to  find  any  more  deer, 
though  we  were  constantly  coming  upon  tracks  and  other 
signs  where  they  had  been  feeding  during  the  night. 

On  Saturday  evening,  our  time  having  arrived  to  return 
to  the  railroad,  our  team  came  to  take  us  back.  We  were 
glad  to  see  the  familiar  face  of  our  honest  driver,  especially 
as  it  was  one  of  the  few  human  faces  we  had  seen  since  our 
departure  from  civilization.  Our  camp  was  on  what  is  called 
the  “Tote  road,”  upon  which  one  team  passes  each  week, 
“toting”  supplies  from  the  nearest  railroad  station  to  the 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


293 


lumber  camp,  a distance  of  nearly  forty  miles.  The  appear- 
ance of  this  wagon  is  as  much  of  an  event  to  the  few  people 
in  this  wilderness  as  is  the  entrance  of  a circus  into  our  town 
to  the  colored  people. 

Early  on  Sunday  morning  we  broke  camp,  loaded  our 
baggage  again  into  the  wagon,  and  started  to  retrace  our  steps 
toward  the  confines  of  civilization.  We  reached  our  driver’s 
house,  a cozy,  comfortable  farm-house,  six  miles  from  the 
railroad  station,  at  five  o’clock  p.m.,  and  remained  over  night. 
Here  one  of  the  most  exciting  episodes  of  the  trip  occurred. 
As  we  neared  the  house  we  had  heard  the  baying  of  a hound 
in  the  woods,  and  our  driver  had  remarked  that  we  might 
reasonably  expect  a shot  at  a deer  before  dark.  Sure  enough, 
while  we  were  preparing  for  supper  a deer  came  bounding 
across  the  opening,  and  plunging  into  a small  lake  on  the 
farm,  started  to  swim  across.  We  at  once  gathered  such 
weapons  as  we  could  readily  get  hold  of  and  started  for  the 
lake.  Two  of  us  went  toward  the  point  where  he  would  come 
out  of  the  water,  and  Sam  Hutchings  ran  round  to  the  side 
where  he  had  entered  the  lake.  As  we  headed  him  off  he 
turned  and  started  back,  and  when  within  about  thirty  yards 
of  Sam,  who  had  hastily  caught  up  his  Smith  & Wesson 
revolver,  and  who,  by  the  way,  is  a somewhat  famous  pistol 
shot,  he  sent  a ball  through  his  head  and  ended  his  career. 
He  proved  to  be  a nearly  full-grown  fawn,  and  we  made 
several  meals  from  the  choicest  parts  during  the  remainder  of 
our  trip. 

After  partaking  of  an  early  breakfast  with  the  farmer,  we 
bade  good-bye  to  his  family,. and  he  drove  us  over  to  the 
station  in  time  for  the  train  to  Petoskey,  where  we  arrived  in 
due  time.  At  eight  o’clock  a.m.  we  took  the  train  for  Lake- 
view,  at  the  head  of  Crooked  lake,  six  miles  distant,  and  an 
hour  later  were  on  board  the  little  steamer  ‘ ‘ Northern  Belle,  ’ ’ at 


294 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


that  point  embarked  for  Cheboygan,  forty-four  miles  distant. 
The  Captain  informed  us  that  we  would  probably  see  plenty  of 
ducks,  loons,  etc.,  on  the  trip,  so  we  brought  out  the 
• ‘ hunter’s-pet  ” rifle  and  enjoyed  some  very  fine  sport,  shoot- 
ing from  the  bow  of  the  vessel. 

Several  ducks  were  taught  the  folly  of  exposing  themselves 
to  the  unerring  aim  of  some  of  our  crack  shots.  A small 
diver  was  killed  by  an  unusually  long  shot,  several  on  board 
pronouncing  the  distance  at  least  two  hundred  yards.  A wood- 
duck  was  cut  down  on  the  wing  as  he  crossed  the  channel 
about  forty  yards  away.  Several  others  were  killed  as  they 
sat  in  the  water,  and  all  while  the  boat  was  in  motion, 
making,  altogether,  a rather  remarkable  score  for  a morning’s 
shooting  with  the  rifle.  This  trip  through  Crooked,  Burt  and 
Mullett  Lakes  and  Crooked,  Indian  and  Cheboygan  rivers  is 
one  of  the  most  novel  and  delightful  that  could  possibly  be 
imagined.  The  water  is  clear  as  crystal,  the  air  pure  and 
invigorating,  the  scenery  picturesque  and  beautiful  in  the 
extreme.  Crooked  river  is,  indeed,  appropriately  named.  In 
many  places  the  turns  are  so  abrupt,  that  it  is  with  the  utmost 
skill  and  care  that  these  little  steamers  can  get  through. 
Mullett  and  Burt  lakes  are  becoming  quite  popular  as  summer 
resorts,  and  numerous  hotels  have  been  and  are  being  erected 
on  their  shores  for  the  accommodation  of  the  hundreds  of 
pleasure-seekers  who  now  visit  them  every  summer.  Bass  and 
pickerel  abound  in  these  and  neighboring  waters,  and  the 
Cheboygan  river,  at  points  a few  miles  above  Mullett  lake, 
affords  the  finest  grayling  fishing  in  the  state. 

We  arrived  at  Cheboygan  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  at 
once  boarded  the  steamer  “ Mary  ” for  Mackinaw  Island, 
which  we  reached  at  seven  o’clock. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  MACKINAC. 

THE  STRAITS  OF  MACKINAC — THE  PERFECT  TRANSPARENCY  OF  THE 
WATER  — PURITY  OF  THE  ATMOSPHERE  — ANTIDOTE  FOR  HAY  FEVER 
— FORT  MACKINAC — THE  ASTOR  HOUSE  — THE  ENCHANTING  ISLE  — 
SOUVENIRS  — THE  CAPTAIN’S  DREAM  — PELICAN  LAKE — AN  AQUA 
INCOGNITA  — THE  HOME  OF  THE  MIGHTY  MUSCALONGE. 

Our  visit  to  the  beautiful  island  of  Mackinac  was  of  the 
most  delightful  character  and  one  long  to  be  remembered.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  delightful  spots  on  earth.  Situated  at  the 
confluence  of  lakes  Michigan  and  Huron  and  at  the  western 
entrance  to  the  Straits  of  Mackinac,  it  is  surrounded  by  water 
than  which  none  clearer,  purer  or  more  beautiful  is  to  be 
found  on  the  globe.  It  is  so  perfectly  transparent  that  every 
pebble  of  the  size  of  a pea  may  be  easily  distinguished  at  a 
depth  of  thirty  feet  or  more.  We  saw  fish  from  the  piers  at 
the  boat-landing  not  more  tnan  two  inches  long  in  water 
twenty  to  thirty  feet  deep,  ana  could  actually  distinguish 
their  fins  at  those  depths.  The  atmosphere  is  as  clear  and 
pure  as  the  water,  and  at  this  point,  as  well  as  at  Petoskey,, 
Cheboygan,  and  in  fact  all  through  this  region,  is  a perfect 
antidote  for  hay  fever.  Hundreds  of  sufferers  from  this  disease 
seek  and  find  relief  at  these  points  every  summer.  The  island 
is  two  and  a-half  miles  in  width  and  about  four  miles  long. 
Its  greatest  altitude  above  the  level  of  the  lake  is  330  feet. 
It  contains  many  features  of  natural  and  historical  interest, 
prominent  among  which  is  old  Fort  Holmes,  where  one  of 
the  important  engagements  of  the  war  of  1812  took  place, 

“195 


296 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


and  where  the  gallant  General  Holmes  fell  while  defending 
it.  The  ruins  of  the  old  stockade  are  well  preserved.  Other 
points  attracting  the  notice  and  admiration  of  the  visitor  are 
Scott’s  Cave,  Sugar-loaf  Rock,  Arch  Rock,  Fairy  Arch  of  the 
Giant’s  Causeway,  Point  Lookout,  Devil’s  Kitchen,  Lovers’ 
Leap,  Skull  Cave  and  Chimney  Rock.  Many  of  these  scenes 
are  sublimely  beautiful,  but  space  will  not  admit  of  descrip- 
tions here.  The  island  is  covered  with  a thick  growth  of 
cedar,  balsam,  fir,  soft  maple  and  some  of  the  smaller  varieties 
of  hardwood.  Hard  gravel  roads  in  various  directions  form 
delightful  drives  and  enable  visitors  to  reach  with  facility 
every  notable  point. 

Fort  Mackinac,  with  its  frowning  artillery  and  its  sentinel 
pacing  his  beat,  reminds  one  of  the  necessity  of  securely 
guarding  this,  one  of  the  nation’s  natural  strongholds,  even 
in  time  of  peace.  The  fortifications  are  whitewashed,  and 
the  barracks  and  officers’  residences  are  painted  white. 
These,  with  the  surrounding  evergreens,  present  a most 
picturesque  view. 

The  greater  portion  of  the  island  has  been,  by  an  act  of 
Congress,  set  apart  as  a national  park,  and  a magnificent  one 
it  will  be  when  properly  improved. 

The  Astor  House,  one  of  the  principal  hotels  of  the  vil- 
lage, was  at  one  time  the  headquarters  of  the  Hudson’s  Bay 
Fur  Company,  of  which  John  Jacob  Astor  was  the  head. 
Many  of  the  account  books,  records  and  papers,  some  of  them 
in  Astor’s  own  handwriting,  are  still  kept  here  and  are  a 
source  of  great  interest  to  visitors. 

Our  stay  at  the  island  was  prolonged  several  days  beyond 
what  we  had  intended,  by  reason  of  a heavy  gale  which  blew 
steadily  from  the  west,  rendering  the  lake  so  rough  that  the 
steamer  could  not  make  the  trip  from  Petoskey.  We  had  no 
occasion  to  regret  it,  however,  for  the  fresh,  invigorating 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


297 


atmosphere  and  the  rich  and  attractive  scenery  made  the  time 
pass  most  pleasantly. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  our  arrival,  the  wind  having  fallen 
somewhat,  the  bright  little  steamer  “ Mary”  arrived,  and  at 
three  o’clock  p.m.  we  bade  good-bye  to  the  enchanting  isle,  the 
“ Gem  of  the  Straits,”  and  steamed  out  into  Lake  Michigan. 
The  water  was  still  very  rough,  and  several  of  the  passengers 
were  soon  seen  hugging  the  guard-rails,  looking  pale  as  death, 
and  sadly  sighing,  “ Oh,  my  ! ” The  run  to  Petoskey,  a dis- 
tance of  sixty  miles,  was  made  in  five  hours.  Arriving  there, 
we  put  up  for  the  night,  and  at  six  o’clock  the  following  morn- 
ing we  boarded  the  south-bound  train  on  the  Grand  Rapids 
& Indianapolis  railroad,  “homeward  bound.” 

While  the  trip  had  not  been  so  fruitful  of  results,  in  a sport- 
ing sense,  as  we  had  anticipated,  owing  to  our  having  chosen 
an  unfavorable  time,  yet  it  has  been  fraught  with  other  and 
more  important  results.  We  have  seen  and  explored  a vast 
tract  of  uninhabited  wilderness,  which,  to  the  lover  of  nature, 
is  as  fascinating  as  any  in  the  United  States.  We  have  seen 
a number  of  the  noted  summer  resorts  of  the  North ; we  have 
enjoyed  Tie  most  refreshing  and  invigorating  atmosphere  to 
be  found  anywhere;  have  indulged  in  the  most  vigorous 
physical  Exercises,  such  as  walking,  boating,  etc.,  and  have 
returned  .home  with  greatly  improved  health  and  with  such 
ravenous  Appetites  that  our  hotel  and  boarding-house  proprie- 
tors have  fiready  threatened  us  with  an  advance  in  the  price 
of  board. 

We  ) ave  had  strange  experiences ; have  witnessed  many 
amusing  incidents  and  encountered  some  strange  characters, 
whose  portraits  will  never  be  effaced  from  our  memories.  The 
warmest  and  most  lasting  friendships  have  grown  up  between 
membf  fs  of  the  party,  where  before  only  a passing  acquaint- 
ance < \sted. 


293 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


We  have  retained  lasting  souvenirs  of  the  event  in  the 
shape  of  some  excellent  photographs  of  our  group,  camp,  the 
lake  in  which  we  caught  many  fine  fish,  etc.,  for  all  of  which 
we  are  under  obligations  to  the  Doctor,  who  carried  the  pho- 
tographic apparatus  and  took  the  negatives.  As  an  amateur 
photographer,  as  well  as  in  many  other  respects,  he  is  a brick. 
Among  the  many  enjoyable  incidents  of  the  trip,  we  shall 
always  remember  how  the  Doctor  went  to  sleep  in  a coach 
with  his  head  thrown  back  and  his  mouth  open  ; how  he 
woke  up  to  find  it  full  of  paper,  and  how  all  the  other  pas- 
sengers enjoyed  the  joke  much  better  than  he  did  ; how  the 
Captain  was  alarmed  when  suddenly  aroused  from  his  slum- 
bers by  something  trying  to  walk  over  or  through  the  tent, 
which  he  imagined  was  a huge  bear,  but  which  proved  to  be 
only  the  old  hunter’s  harmless  dog  looking  for  a bone  on 
which  to  make  a lunch ; how  on  the  return  trip  his  (the 
Captain’s)  appetite  grew  so  ravenous  that  he  invariably  or- 
dered everything  on  the  bill  of  fare  at  hotels.  How  the 
Parson,  alias  “ Humpty  Dumpty,”  showed  up  when  about  to 
take  the  war-path  in  search  of  large  game,  with  the  skirts  of 
his  rubber  bonnet  tucked  up  behind  and  sticking  straight  out 
at  the  sides  like  the  oars  of  our  skiff. 

For  years  past  I have  heard  strange  rumors  of  the  finny 
monsters  that  were  said  to  dwell  in  Pelican  lake.  Hereto- 
fore, it  has  been  a strange  aqua  incognita,  said  to  lie  away  in 
the  northern  wilderness,  somewhere  in  the  central  portion  of 
Lincoln  county,  Wisconsin;  but  this  was  all  any  one  could 
tell  me  of  it.  Only  the  Chippewa  Indians,  a few  hardy 
woodsmen  and  a very  few  adventurous  sportsmen  had  seen 
it,  and  they  brought  to  the  less  favored  portion  of  creation 
such  news  as  they  saw  fit  to  give  concerning  the  strange 
water. 

Residents  of  Wausau  and  Merrill  have  told  me  that  they 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


299 


have  frequently  seen  muscalonge  weighing  thirty  to  forty 
pounds,  brought  into  their  towns  by  the  Indians  during  the 
winter  months,  that  had  been  speared  through  the  ice,  and 
which  the  Indians  said  they  had  brought  from  Pelican  lake. 
The  same  parties  told  me  that  six  and  eight  pound  bass  were 
“ said  to  be  ” common  there.  With  such  stories  ringing  in 
my  ears,  I fondly  dreamed  of  visiting  the  lake  some  day  in 
the  dim,  distant,  threadbare  future.  The  opportunity  came 
sooner  than  I anticipated,  for  the  Milwaukee,  Lake  Shore  & 
Western  Railway  Company  pushed  its  line  northward  through 
the  wilderness  with  such  energy  and  rapidity  that  early  in  the 
present  season  it  reached  Pelican  lake,  built  a comfortable 
depot  on  its  banks,  and  commenced  running  regular  trains  to 
that  point.  When  I saw  this  announcement  I lost  no  time 
in  procuring  a couple  of  through  tickets,  checking  my  tackle 
and  camping  outfit,  and,  accompanied  by  my  wife,  started 
for  the  happy  fishing-ground. 

We  reached  the  lake  at  one  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  pro- 
cured a boat,  shipped  our  baggage,  and,  pulling  down  the 
west  shore  half  a mile,  made  our  camp  on  a high  bank 
beneath  the  shade  of  several  large  birch  and  pine  trees.  The 
banks  are  walled  up  nearly  all  around  the  lake  with  large 
red  granite  boulders,  and  the  bottom  is  closely  paved  with 
the  same  material,  though  generally  in  smaller  pieces.  The 
water  is  of  a dark  coffee-color,  imparted  by  the  many  small 
streams  which  flow  into  the  lake,  and  which  in  their  turn 
drain  numerous  small  swamps  in  the  vicinity.  The  water 
seems  pure,  however,  as  evidenced  by  the  enormous  size  to 
which  the  fish  grow  in  it.  The  black-bass  bit  finely  during 
the  three  days  we  were  there,  those  we  took  ranging  in  size 
from  two  to  four  pounds.  My  wife  took  one  on  the  trolling 
spoon  that  weighed,  after  being  out  of  the  water  several 
hours,  four  pounds  and  thirteen  ounces  j I think  it  doubtless 


300 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


lost  the  other  three  ounces  after  being  taken  out,  and  before 
it  was  weighed.  She  caught  three  others  that  weighed  sixteen 
and  three-quarter  pounds,  under  like  conditions. 

We  also  caught  a number  of  pike  weighing  from  two  to 
seven  pounds  each,  but  were  not  fortunate  enough  to  get  one 
of  the  large  muscalonge,  though  other  parties  took  several 
while  we  were  there.  Conductor  James  Shehan  won  the  big 
hook,  with  one  that  tipped  the  beam  at  twenty-one  and  a 
half  pounds  after  being  dressed.  A party  from  Antigo  caught 
one  on  Saturday  that  weighed  twenty-three  gross,  and  the 
hotel  keeper  at  Eland  Junction  fed  his  boarders  all  the  fol- 
lowing week  on  one  that  weighed  twenty-five  and  a half 
pounds  gross ; but  the  boys  watched  him  when  he  went  to 
dress  it,  and  saw  him  throw  away  the  two  good-sized  bould- 
ers that  he  had  forced  down  its  throat  before  weighing  it. 

Several  others,  equally  large,  had  been  taken  during  the 
two  or  three  weeks  preceding  our  visit,  but  “ there  are  as 
good  fish  in  the  lake  as  ever  yet  were  caught,”  and  doubtless 
enough  of  these  lusty  fellows  yet  remain  to  furnish  grand 
sport  for  everybody  that  may  go  there  for  several  year?  to 


come. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


A NARROW  ESCAPE. 

ENCHANTING  SCENERY  — A SUDDEN  SHOT  — I FALL  ASLEEP  — AN  AWFUL 
AWAKENING  — HAND-TO-HAND  FIGHT  WITH  A GRIZZLY  — “HOLD 
THE  FORT”  — A SWARM  OF  MOSQUITOES  — A TERRIFIC  SLAUGHTER. 

In  the  fall  of  ’72  I was  hunting  black-tail  deer  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  with  a party  of  friends  from  Omaha.  We 
left  camp  one  morning  at  sunrise,  and  after  going  about  two 
miles  separated,  each  selecting  his  own  route,  with  the  under- 
standing, however,  that  we  were  to  take  our  stands  as  near 
the  point  at  which  we  then  stood  as  the  lay  of  the  land 
would  admit  of.  The  dogs  were  put  out  at  the  same  time. 

I started  up  a narrow  canyon,  both  sides  of  which  were 
almost  perpendicular,  and  which  was  not  more  than  thirty 
yards  wide  at  its  base.  The  walls  were  of  red  sandstone, 
nearly  two  hundred  feet  high,  and  presented  a rugged,  pic- 
turesque appearance.  I walked  leisurely  along,  my  mind 
wholly  occupied  with  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  scene, 
and  totally  unmindful  of  the  distance  I had  traversed,  until  I 
reached  the  head  of  the  canyon,  and  here  pausing  and  look- 
ing at  my  watch  I saw  that  it  was  more  than  an  hour  since  I 
had  left  my  companions,  that  I was  at  least  two  miles  from 
our  starting-point,  and  probably  about  that  distance  from 
any  other  member  of  the  party.  Just  at  this  instant  I heard 
the  dogs  give  mouth  and  in  a moment  more  heard  a shot, 
though  by  reason  of  the  great  distance  both  sounds  came  to 
me  but  faintly.  I selected  a comfortable  position  by  a large 
rock  and  sat  down  to  rest  and  await  any  further  developments. 

301 


302 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


I hoped,  of  course,  that  having  now  obtained  a sightly  look- 
out, I might  be  favored  with  a shot.  I waited  long  and 
anxiously  for  the  hounds  to  renew  their  music,  but  the  wel- 
come sound  came  not.  All  was  silent  as  the  grave.  At 
length  my  interest  in  the  sport  subsided.  I meditated.  Then 
I succumbed  to  the  effects  of  the  balmy  mountain  air  and  the 
mild  September  sun,  and  gradually  fell  asleep.  1 may  have 
slept  an  hour,  perhaps  more,  when  on  the  rocks  at  my  very 
feet  I heard  a clanking  as  of  heavy  chains.  I started  up,  and 
was  horror-stricken  to  see  that  there,  within  six  feet  of  me, 
stood  a huge  grizzly  bear,  and  that  to  one  of  his  fore  feet 
hung  a powerful  steel  trap,  which,  with  the  clog  attached,  he 
had  dragged  from  the  vicinity  of  our  camp,  where  we  had  set 
it  and  several  others  for  wolves.  His  legs  and  belly  were  all 
besmeared  with  his  own  blood  ; the  froth  was  dripping  from 
his  mouth,  and  his  eyes  glared  like  balls  of  fire  as  he  reared 
upon  his  haunches  to  strike  me  to  the  earth.  With  a convul- 
sive and  half-conscious  movement  I caught  up  my  rifle  and, 
without  attempting  to  aim,  fired  in  the  direction  of  the  huge 
monster.  Through  the  cloud  of  smoke  that  ensued  I saw  a 
large  black  spot  on  his  breast  where  the  fire  from  the  dis- 
charge had  burned  the  hair  away.  I dropped  my  rifle  and 
clutched  my  knife,  but  at  this  instant  a terrible  blow  on  my 
shoulder  sent  me  prostrate  and  insensible  upon  the  ground. 
An  instant  later  I felt  my  left  arm  crushed  as  if  in  a vice,  and 
the  flesh  torn  from  it  as  if  by  the  strength  of  a giant.  By  an 
almost  superhuman  effort  I rose  upon  my  knees,  still  clutching 
my  knife,  and  with  a thrust,  such  as  only  the  desperation  of 
a dying  man  can  render  possible,  disemboweled  the  terrible 
creature,  opening  his  abdomen  almost  its  entire  length.  He 
staggered,  fell,  rolled  a little  way  down  the  hill  and  expired. 

Then,  weakened  as  I was  from  pain  and  loss  of  blood,  I 
swooned  away.  Another  lapse  of  time,  of  the  length  of 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


303 


which  I have  little  knowledge.  Presently,  however,  I re- 
gained consciousness.  I opened  my  eyes ; I still  grasped  my 
knife  firmly  in  my  right  hand.  My  rifle  lay  by  my  side. 
I picked  it  up,  opened  the  breech,  and  to  my  astonishment 
found  a loaded  cartridge  in  it.  I then  felt  for  my  left  arm; 
it  was  there  and  as  sound  as  ever  it  was  ! I then  looked  for 
the  bear,  but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  truth  then 
gradually  dawned  upon  me  that,  like  many  of  the  hair- 
breadth escapes  we  read  of,  it  was  all  a dream. 

After  thoroughly  arousing  myself  I entered  the  woods ; 
the  air  was  filled  who  the  sound  of  flapping  wings  and  the 
clamor  of  hungry  voices,  proceeding  from  an  innumerable 
company  of  bloodthirsty  mosquitoes.  They  sat  upon  the 
rocks  whetting  their  bills.  At  the  signal  of  their  leader 
they  charged  me.  At  the  first  smell  of  my  oil  they  stag- 
gered a little,  but  soon  recovered  and  came  down  on  me 
with  renewed  force,  business  end  first.  In  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  tell  it,  they  had  absorbed  all  my  oil,  and  their 
bills,  which  were  as  long  and  strong  as  those  of  the  jack- 
snipe,  were  honeycombing  my  flesh  and  drinking  my  life’s 
blood.  From  the  slight  regard  they  paid  to  the  oil,  I doubt 
if  even  skunk  juice  would  be  at  all  offensive  to  their  iron-clad 
olfactories.  Oh,  that  I could  fill  my  blood  with  some  deadly 
poison,  that  every  one  that  bites  might  swell  up  ,vnd  burst ! 

I stood  their  abuse  but  a few  minutes  when  1 surrendered 
unconditionally,  pronounced  the  oily  prescription  a delusion 
and  a snare,  and  proceeded  hurriedly  to  tie  a piece  of  thick 
muslin  over  my  face,  and  to  pull  on  a pair  of  thick  buckskin 
gloves.  How  fortunate  that  I had  brought  these  with  me. 
These  were  too  many  for  them.  It  was  then  their  turn  to  fall 
back ; but  still  they  waited  patiently  about.  They  sat  upon 
my  head,  shoulders,  arms,  and  on  the  trees  around  me, 
singing  “Hold  the  Fort,”  and  waiting  for  me  to  come  out. 


304 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


But  I staid  in  until  I got  out  of  the  woods,  and  meantime  took 
a find  creel  of  trout. 

But  these  mosquitoes  take  the  cake.  They  go  for  you  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  as  well  as  night.  They  make  hay  while 
the  sun  shines.  I have  had  my  ears  chewed  in  midday  while 
walking  in  sunlight  until  they  looked  like  a couple  of  saddle- 
rock  oysters.  I have  had  the  back  of  my  neck  lacerated  until 
it  looked  as  if  I had  born  the  yoke  of  Egyptian  bondage  for 
twenty  years.  I have  had  my  nose  mutilated  until  it  looked 
like  a sun-burned  potato.  If  you  are  so  fortunate  as  to  sleep 
under  a mosquito  bar,  they  waylay  you  until  morning  and 
assail  you  as  you  come  out.  You  put  some  of  them  on  with 
your  shirt  and  drawers  ; you  put  on  some  more  with  your 
socks ; you  tie  up  a good  many  in  your  necktie,  and  button 
up  a lot  more  in  your  pants  and  vest.  Of  course  their  useful- 
ness is  destroyed,  but  they  are  there  all  the  same.  Then 
when  you  go  to  wash  you  rub  some  of  them  into  your  eyes, 
and  some  more  into  your  ears.  You  go  into  the  saloon  and 
find  them  there  also  ; you  drink  them  in  your  beer.  At  the 
table,  morning,  noon  and  night,  they  attend  you.  You  eat 
them  in  your  sausage,  your  corn-bread,  and  your  gooseberry 
pie. 

They  stick  to  you  when  they  once  get  a hold,  like  molasses 
to  a baby’s  face.  You  can’t  shoo  them  off ; its  no  use  trying, 
they  won’t  shoo  ; in  fact,  I never  try,  I make  it  a point  to  kill 
every  one  that  I can  get  my  hands  on.  I allow  no  guilty 
mosquito  to  escape.  I have  kept  a careful  account  of  the 
number  I have  killed  since  June  ist,  and  it  foots  up  exactly 
392,721,837,942,  4-11-44!  Some  folks  may  think  this  state- 
ment exaggerated,  but  let  them  spend  a month  in  the  big 
woods  as  I have,  and  they  will  be  ready  to  make  an  affidavit 
to  the  truth  of  it  without  fear  or  compulsion. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


305 


Ah,  mosquito,  mosquito  ! “ Requiscat  in  pieces,  non  est 
cum  eat  us  ! ” 

MOSQUITO  POETRY. 

“ He  lights  upon  your  head, 

A naughty  word  is  said. 

As  with  a rap, 

A vicious  slap, 

You  bang  the  spot  where  he  is  not. 

He  stops  and  rubs  his  gauzy  wings; 

He  soars  aloft,  and  gently  sings, 

He  sits  and  grins, 

And  then  begins 

To  select  a spot  for  another  shot.” 

The  great  rains  and  consequent  high  waters  in  Minnesota 
and  Wisconsin  in  the  early  part  of  June  have  produced  the 
largest  crop  of  mosquitoes  on  record,  or  on  earth,  for  that 
matter.  The  old  man  with  the  long  memory,  the  far-seeing 
oracle,  the  o.  h.,  has  never  seen  anything  like  it.  The  mos- 
quito of  1880  is  no  larger  than  his  ancestor,  but  he  has  sev- 
eral other  marked  characteristics  that  will  keep  his  memory 
green  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  when  the  high  winds 
of  the  North  shall  sing  sad  requiems  o’er  the  graves  of  his 
defamers.  His  most  striking  peculiarity  is,  as  Mrs.  Parting- 
ton would  say,  his  numerousness. 

Nomen  illio  legio,  his  name  is  legion.  For  days  after  the 
“flood  ” you  could  look  in  any  of  the  pools  or  ponds  that 
you  encountered  at  every  turn  and  you  would  find  the  w'ater 
literally  alive  with  “wrigglers” — the  larvae  of  the  mosquito. 
In  due  time  they  got  ripe.  The  myriads  arose  in  their  might, 
clothed  in  the  glory  of  their  full  plumage,  and  are  now  mak- 
ing themselves  felt  as  a power  in  the  land.  They  recognize 
the  truth  of  our  national  motto  — “ In  union  there  is  strength.” 
They  bite,  not  as  the  Chicago  delegates  voted,  but  all  one 
way.  They  enforce  the  unit  rule  strictly.  They  are  yet 


306 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


young  and  ambitious,  each  one  anxious  to  distinguish  himself 
by  spilling  more  blood  in  his  country’s  cause  than  his  fellow, 
they  are  as  industrious  as  though  laying  up  stores  of  human 
gore  for  winter  use.  They  have  an  appetite  like  a boy  who 
has  just  got  home  from  school,  or  like  a true  sportsman  who 
has  been  shooting  ducks  all  day  and  hasn’t  killed  any.  This 
little  cuss  is  very  familiar  on  short  acquaintance.  In  fact,  he 
don’t  wait  for  an  introduction  at  all.  As  soon  as  he  meets 
you  he  pounces  upon  you  and  bores  for  oil. 

His  body  is  made  of  India-rubber,  Goodyear’s  patent,  so 
that  it  expands  to  any  size  desired,  and  it  is  put  together  in 
sections  like  a telescope,  so  that  it  will  pull  out  to  hold  all  the 
blood  he  can  get.  He  can  stand  more  blood  without  crying 
“ nuff,”  than  any  bruiser  in  the  prize  ring. 

I concluded  the  other  day  to  go  trout  fishing.  I went, 
and  I shall  never  forget  that  day’s  fishing.  A friend  had 
given  me  a prescription  for  a wash  that  he  said  would  keep 
them  off — the  mosquitoes  I mean,  not  the  trout.  I went  to 
the  drug  store  and  got  a bottle  of  the  mixture.  It  was  oil  of 
tar,  oil  of  pennyroyal,  oil  of  cedar  and  castor  oil.  With  this 
vile  decoction  I calsomined  my  countenance  until  I resembled 
a cross  between  a Malay  negro  and  a Digger  Indian.  “In 
this  coat  of  mail,”  said  I,  “I  can  defy  the  blood-thirsty 
cannibals.” 


, 


/ 


Date  Due 


Date  Due 


917.8  S555H 

SMelds 


459  A 


JtoMng_i.n  the  ft-reat  _ lest  _ 


-SATE  . 


4o9  i 


917.8  S555H 


